Paradise Found
by bravefan
Summary: Because can there ever be too many tags to 2x17? This will be AU spin off from that episode and go from there.
1. Chapter 1

"_What all leaders must come to terms with is that they will be treated unequally and that is the weight that they crack under. The weight of actual responsibility, actual accountability, and it actually being _your _ass on the line."_

0-0-0-0

Blackburn was born to lead.

It wasn't readily apparent to most. In fact it took him three tries to get into OCS and even once he was there several gunnery sergeants loudly and frequently questioned who fucked up and allowed him in.

He isn't loud, rarely asserts himself in a room and doesn't feel the need to dominate, control or micro-manage those around him. He doesn't even have a short man complex or a crazy ego, and perhaps most shockingly he can actually admit when he makes a mistake.

And yet people listen to him.

To the great shock of his instructors he earned everyone's respect at OCS in quick order purely by being himself. Not changing, not forcing anything. Just simply by treating others, especially those lower than him, as worthy of his respect and in return it came back to him in spades. The same approach worked at his first command and his second and now with Devgru. Those who labelled him a pushover his first day would probably be shocked to see him now successfully he navigates the type A on steroids world of tier one operators.

He still takes the same approach, staying true to what has made him successful in the past and letting the results show themselves.

And they do. Just maybe not in the way most people would measure.

His team doesn't jump to attention when he walks in the room, he has never managed to get Jason to tuck in his shirt at any point in the last 5 years and more often than not Bravo will happily launch into a rant about cake eaters when he is still within earshot.

While most officers might find all that offensive or demeaning, he actually takes it as a compliment because most of the time they forget he is technically one of those cake eaters. He has worked hard to grow that kind of relationship with the team. To earn their trust and respect to the point where they accept his presence rather than resent it. To the point where he can grab a beer with them and discuss an issue level headedly rather than making it more than what it actually is.

It may not be orthodox. But it works.

Or at least it always has worked in the past.

If he's honest running Bravo means spending most of his time putting out small fires they leave in their wake. Unruffling a few feathers that Jason has managed to ruffle or smoothing over a few lines that have been crossed in order to get the job done.

Normally its manageable, but lately it's starting to feel like forest fire season around here, conditions dry and terse, with storms rolling in nightly just waiting to spark something new.

Over the last few weeks there has been no shortage of minor issues piling up and a drought of good news. And he would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed the tension brewing within Bravo. The cracks and fissures appearing within the normally cohesive team. Between Jason, Ray, Sonny, Clay, they have all been off their games at one point or another causing more and more friction. Blackburn can almost feel the fire warning level creeping higher and higher with each mission that goes a little less than perfect giving Shaw a little more ammunition to breath down their necks with.

Add in a gucchi deployment as some extra accelerant for the 6 highly trained, highly impatient operators who quickly become bored and restless. Give him Afghanistan, hell give him syria, he will take those guys anywhere. Just don't make him babysit them on a glorified vacation and tell him they need to be on their best behavior.

It feels like only a matter of time before lighting strikes somewhere and the whole area goes up like a powder keg.

He tried raising these concerns to Jason at the bar and didn't get a whole lot of traction. It wasn't unexpected. Shaw's issues, rightly or wrongly cut right to the heart of Bravo's core. Their way of being. He would have been naive to think it would be an easy fix and that the man would come around so quickly.

And ultimately this situation, how far it has gotten, is on him. The joys of leadership. Absolute accountability

When his OCS instructors realized that he wasn't what they expected or even wanted as a leader they were determined to make him fail. Giving him the age old single out as class leader where everything his class did wrong became his fault just to add a little extra pressure.

It had seemed unfair at the time, but he had managed eventually. Now he was even grateful because it had prepared him to accept moments like this. To understand that as a leader the buck has to stop with you. Your ass is the one on the line. Some people preferred to try and pass it further up the chain... not him though. So whatever is going wrong with Bravo, it's his fault and more importantly his responsibility to fix it.

At the end of the day maybe he has been too easy on them. Built too comfortable relationship.

He thought it was working.

Thought there was enough hard won respect to go around. That they could shoot the shit but when push came to shove he could make the hard calls. When needed he could keep Jason and his team in line and prevent them from causing an international incident on a nuclear submarine in north Korean waters. Or from blowing up a vital mission just because they didn't want to play in the sandbox with another team.… He thought he could have his cake and eat it too.

Maybe he was wrong.

So now he has to conceptualize changing Bravo's "culture" and put it into a report for Shaw by end of the week. Come up with some tangible changes that will appease the upper brass while not starting a raging four alarm fire himself.

It's a given they will be a little annoyed. That he expects. Doesn't even blame them. However he needs to tread carefully because contrary to most officers around him he realizes the value of give and take with his men. Recognizes that the something can be worth more than its parts, worth bending a few rules and turning a blind eye when needed. Bravo is just that. He just somehow needs to convince Jason that there are more ways to fight than just straight out opposition. Sometimes you need to fight smarter not harder.

To that end he resolves to go to the bar and have a drink with the guys, maybe try discussing it rationally with Jason again. See if maybe, just maybe, he can convince Bravo 1 to take this threat as seriously as he does DShKs and SVests. Ideally they can work together on some solutions. And if that fails, at least Blackburn can get some hydration before he jumps back into trying to beat back the flames.

His deep contemplation is interrupted by a phone call and in a split second none of that matters anymore.

A bomb.

Injuries.

Mandy is talking about getting who is responsible and all he can think about is that it could have been his men.

She assures him they are all unharmed. That they got lucky. But it sounds like it was a matter of inches. it could have been so much worse and he can hear the self recrimination in her voice. They failed to predict this.

Wherever they are, whatever they are doing. They should have been protected. He should have protected them.

His feet are rerouting without even conscious thought and he is on his way to the opps room to get a briefing. Fully intending to demand answers and find out what was missed.

Blackburn is still a few minutes away when the second call comes in.

This time it's Ray.

Or more accurately its Clay and a second bomb.

And they weren't so lucky this time.

Now he is running down the hallway. All pretense of calm, controlled and collected went out the window the second he heard the tone of Ray's voice and clued into the fact that there probably wasn't any sort of good reason Jason wasn't the one calling him.

His night reroutes again and he is headed to the hospital.

Bullying his way past the guards. Flashing whatever kind of badge will get him access to his guy. Barking orders like the best or them and impersonating whatever kind of puffed up, self righteous blowhard bigwig will work to get him access to his guy.

When he finally gets them though and sees Clay he is actually relieved for a second.

While the man on the table is not the vivacious, youthful, team member who only a few hours ago he left in high spirits playing poker, drinking beer and ragging on his teammates, he doesn't really look that bad either.

A little dusty, a few cuts and one obvious shrapnel wound on his leg that is bleeding heavily.

He isn't Adam though.

Spenser isn't missing any limbs or burnt to a crisp.

And from Blackburn's position on the edge of the trauma room it actually seems like Clay might have already regained consciousness. He allows himself to hope for a few seconds, that maybe the man had incredible luck and somehow managed to come out of this relatively unscathed. Eventually though his common sense kicks back in and realizes the atmosphere in the room is entirely too urgent and desperate for that to be the case. The way Clay is being swarmed by doctors and nurses, the tone of their voices as they rattle off information and instructions… no part of this is good.

" _decreased level of consciousness, GCS is a 5…." _

His eyes drift back to Spenser's face, clueing in to the fact that while his eyes may be open, it doesn't look like anybody is home. Bravo Six's vacant eyes look like he is already elsewhere. Somewhere beyond their help. Blackburn's heart stops for a second, wondering if they are too late, until he sees one slow blink and he can breathe again.

"_...obstructed breathing, hypotension, right hemothorax… lets intubate and get an intercostal drain going"_

It takes him a second too long to process what an intercostal means and he is still watching with an oblivious intensity when they slice into the side of Clay's chest. There is an initial burst of fluids from the incision, a mini explosion of viscous blood and liquid that spills out unchecked onto the tiles below. Blackburn can't help but flinch away. His stomach reacts viscerally to the sight but he swallows hard and clenches his hands, digging his nails into his palms and manages to avoid adding more of a mess to the floor. Clay on the other hand still lies there, unaffected and unmoving, continuing to blinks slowly even as the tube is jammed into his lung cavity. There is nothing pretty or gentle about trauma care.

"_compound fracture in bilateral both bones of lower limbs and right humerus, shrapnel wound in the femoral nerve on the right leg " _

They make quick work cutting away his pants and it's a fucking mess underneath. From what he got from Mandy, Clay was standing only feet away from the second blast and that proximity is evident once the jeans are no longer hiding the worst of it. Eric's stomach sinks looking at the misshapen and disfigured limbs that speak of multiple breaks, severe burns and catastrophic nerve and muscle damage. It's hard to imagine amputation not being the likely outcome here. And even if they somehow do avoid that it's even harder to imagine the man ever walking again.

"_Run a bag of O-neg, push crystalloids, colloids, blood products and inotrope… run it wide open. He's needs it yesterday" _

Needs it yesterday indeed.

Blackburn just needs it to be yesterday, period.

Clay's eyes are open again and Blackburn really thinks he should be unconscious. No one should have to feel this. His guy shouldn't have to go through this.

He stops himself from saying something. Maybe the doctors know something that he doesn't because they don't seem too concerned about it. Then again maybe they just have other priorities right now like saving his life.

Blackburn prays to whatever God is listening that Clay isn't actually aware right now. Burns, breaks, chest tubes, the kid would be in absolute agony.

Maybe someone is listening because the kid just continues to blink slowly and seems disturbingly at peace with the situation. More so than anyone else in the room. Blackburn hasn't heard anything about brain damage mentioned but he has to start to wonder what else could explain this.

He jumps when a doctor appears in his line of sight. Evidently repeating a question for not the first time.

With effort he focuses on what he is being asked. The decision he is being asked to make. To send Clay home or not.

The doctors aren't sure if he will survive the trip home but they do know they can't treat him here properly. While they may, heavy emphasis on the "_may_," be able to do what's necessary to save his life here. His injuries are too complex and too severe and he needs access to better facilities if there is any chance of him coming back from this in any sort of acceptable capacity.

Blackburn doesn't know what acceptable capacity really means in this case. He isn't sure if they are talking about walking, talking, having all his limbs or just not being a permanent vegetable as this acceptable outcome. Either way the alternatives to most of those options don't seem acceptable to him.

It's a hard decision. The type of life or death decision they don't tell you you will have to make as an officer. Send guys into combat, sure. Make tactical decisions and tactical sacrifices at the cost of lives, he's done it more times than he cares to count. But this feels more direct, more personal. He could be killing Clay or perhaps worse saving him and dooming him to a long life he won't want.

In the end it's a clear decision even if it's not easy. It would probably be the same for any of the Bravo guys.

He bets on them everyday. To fight, to get the job done against all odds. He begs, borrows and sometimes steals to get them the best support team and best equipment so they want for nothing and then he trusts them to do their part.

It's no different here.

Clay deserves the best chance he can get to do what he is trained to do, fight like hell

As they begin to prep him for transport Eric leaves his spot on the periphery and approaches the gurney, leaning over Spenser's eerily expressionless face and willing Clay's listless eyes to focus on him. "You hang in there Bravo Six, you hear me? - don't make me regret this" he isn't sure if he manages the stern tone he was going for. Isn't sure if clay can even hear him anyways, but it gives him at least a little peace.

When he steps aside nurses move in and finally inject a sedative so a doctor can intubate Clay. As he watches the man''s eyes blink once, twice and then remain closed there is a profound sense of relief that the kid is now far away from all of this. And yet Blackburn can't quite shake the accompanying fear that they may never reopen again.

Clay will pull through this. The kid is too stubborn not to.

Within a few short minutes they are hustling Spenser out of the room and up to a transport pad and Eric is left alone in the now deserted trauma room. He soaks in the silence for a long minute, dreading what comes next.

Yet another terrible part of his job….Next of kin notification.

But even before he can get to that unpleasant task, there is also the small matter of the five panicked operators he knows for a fact are waiting not so patiently outside the ER door for an update.

Clays condition will be hard enough for Bravo to take.

The fact that they can't be with him will make it infinitely worse.

In most military units it's normal practice for a medivac to swoop in and whisk the injured away. The nearest medical facility that can handle traumatic injuries can be hundreds of miles away, countries and continents away even. It can be weeks or months before they are reunited with their squad if at all.

Bravo rarely has to deal with this kind of scenario because of the nature of their missions. Usually the only way out is the way they came in, all together. If a guy goes down, there is often no help coming. Nothing to swoop in and save the day. It's on the team to do their best to get the injured out and back to the medical facilities waiting on board the C-17. It's both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes their best isn't enough, but at least they are in it together.

Clay being sent home will make this a tougher pill to swallow.

After a few minutes an elderly cleaner in dark scrubs pushes a cart into the room and begins to clean up. Looking around he sees the wake of the desperate medical efforts and it looks like a third bomb went off. Clearly this woman has seen it all before though, maybe even worse, because she slowly and methodically sweeps up the used medical supplies and ruined pieces of clothing that have been discarded. He watches her work for a second but when she gets to the puddle of blood in the middle of the room he decides that it's his cue to leave.

Bravo is on full alert the second he walks through the door.

He doesn't beat around the bush. There is no way to sugar coat this so he doesn't even try.

"He's in critical condition. Traumatic injury to both legs, significant blood loss, blunt force trauma to the chest"

He can tell which ones were braced for the worst and who was hoping for the best based on their reaction to the news. Ray and Brock clearly were in the later camp, and are visibly stricken by just how bad the damage is. Most of the others seem to have gone the other way, grimly taking the fact that Clay is still alive as a marginal win.

Sonny doesn't react in the slightest. His face is set in stone and he is all business, plowing ahead immediately with the question Blackburn is dreading "When do we get to see him?"

"Yah when?" Ray recovers and seconds the query.

"Not any time soon" Eric lets out a heavy sigh "his condition was too complex to treat over here. They've airlifted him out back to the states."

This time all their faces fall as that piece of news registers.

Trent in particular looks gutted. Blackburn knows he of any of them can do the math about what this means beyond just the kid being alone. The medic has the best idea how bad off Clay was and knows exactly what kind of risky decision was made considering how far away the best trauma centers are. Eric meets his gaze, seeing his own uncertainty in the choice reflected back at him.

Only time will tell if it was the right one.

Still there is no changing it now, and certainly no use standing around dwelling on it. Instead he leaves the team in Jason's capable hands to get back to the hotel and heads back to headquarters.

Lisa is waiting for him, expression made of steel as she gives him the latest updates, starting with the most important. Medical flight is halfway back, Clay is holding strong. Then she moves on to provide a message from Mandy who is still making inquiries and says she will be back with an update in the next half hour. Finally without being asked Lisa hands him Clay's next of kin information. When he gives her a raised eyebrow she just shrugs, and then unexpectedly dashes forward to give him a short hug. They break apart after a second and then both move off to do other things and pretend it never happened.

Contrary to all expectations, Clay does survive the flight home. In fact he does as well as can be expected for the first 48 hours. He undergoes procedure after procedure, wound debridement, evacuation of a hematoma, application of an external fixator on both lower limbs. He continues to fight and the word stable is even tossed around a few times giving Eric a bit of solace that he made the right call.

Its enough time for Mandy to work some truly impressive magic and put a target package together. It's not the big fish, but it's a start towards figuring out who is responsible and more importantly it's a tangible objective for the team to chase. Something Blackburn is eminently thankful for because if he thought the team was stir crazy before, now they are a downright wrecking crew. He knows he needs to keep them active if he has any chance of his operators not self destructing. If Bravo can't be with Clay then they need to be working.

The team is set up doing surveillance on the target when he gets the call from the hospital.

For the second time in as many days he has to devastate Bravo.

Davis looks at him sympathetically. She has done an admirable job of burying her own emotions over the last few days. As much as she was annoyed by the newest member of bravo at the beginning, he had wormed his way in past her defenses just like he did the rest of them. Its days like these that tell him she will make a good officer. She has been a steady rock for him and he wonders if it is hitting home for her that one day it will be her making these kind of tough calls.

For now though it's his responsibility

He takes a deep breath, lifts the phone and gives her a nod to connect it to Bravo's comms.

0-0-0-0-0-0

_Yep, I'm back. And with a cliffhanger. Sorry - not my usual style. But that one just kind of happened organically. _

_As you probably noticed I already have and will be taking a few liberties with cannon. I still envision Lisa going to OCS, but for the sake of this story the next intake wasn't for a couple more months. _

_And as per normal I've gotten a little carried away. So this will be a long one (hopefully a good one) and I will do my best to keep the updates coming as fast as possible._


	2. Chapter 2

0-0-0-0-0

_"Bravo 1... Switch to channel 2."_

Well that's probably not good.

The team is camped out in a small jungle grove about 500 feet back from the house of interest. The shade is a very welcome reprieve from the hot Philippine sun above them but at the steep cost of providing the bugs a cooler temperature to work in. They have hunkered down at the mercy of what he figures are several different species of nasty bloodsuckers all morning without hearing a peep of complaint from his men as they rotated through various surveillance and security positions. A strong testament to how badly they want to locate this target to further their hunt for justice for Clay. Only now do his men shift in place around him, betraying their unease with the uncharacteristic communication from command.

Ray is the only one who full out turns from his position and raises a silent eyebrow.

Jason shrugs in agreement, equally perplexed, but he rises from his spot to walk a few paces back from the group nonetheless.

When he is satisfied with his distance from the team, out of earshot but still in view, Jason fiddles with his radio and changes the channel.

"Go for Bravo 1"

There is a slightly too long pause and now he is absolutely certain nothing good is coming.

_"Bravo 1, you and the team have orders to return to base, Delta team will be relieving your position. They are on route now, ETA is 45 mikes."_

What the actual fuck …

His first reaction is that Blackburn is punking him. Then dismissing that as unrealistic, he quickly moves on to straight out incredulousness and anger. Swapping a team mid mission just doesn't happen, not without a damn good reason.

In this case there had better be the best reason in the world.

Blackburn knows what this one means to them. He would never, Shaw has to be behind this. There's no other explanation.

He is busy formulating a creative way to tell Shaw to go fuck himself, hoping like hell the asshole is lurking on the line when Eric interrupts his internal tirade.

_"Jason, did you hear me?_"

First name huh. That's even more unusual.

Come to think of it, there is something off in general about the way Blackburn is relaying the information. An uncharacteristic hesitancy and something else he can't put his finger on.

"Why are we being pulled off?" He finally responds, not caring if it comes across as suspicious or disrespectfully blunt.

_"You are needed elsewhere"_

The non answer makes him frown even more. Technically it answered the question but it also told him jack shit and Blackburn isn't normally one to withhold. In fact he probably tells them more than he should sometimes.

"Where exactly?" he probes, still trying to figure out what he is missing.

_"We can discuss it when you are back". _

This time it's clearer to him. Its the distinct impression that Blackburn is lying to him, or at least only providing part of the truth. There's a certain shiftiness to it, the typical bullshit double speak that is oh so familiar coming from command.

He just isn't used to it coming from Eric. Isn't at all a fan of being handled by someone he considers a friend.

There must be some explanation though. Blackburn has always been a straight shooter. Even with all this mess from Shaw he still has been upfront with them at every opportunity. This feels too curvy and manipulative for him.

Unless…. Another alternative pops sudden and uninvited into Jason's head. Remembering the time he made the decision not to tell Ray that Naima was in labour wanting to be sure the man could focus on the mission and wouldn't be endangered if he was distracted worrying about a situation he couldn't do anything about. It was the only reason he ever so much as considered keeping something from one of his men.

Is it possible this is something similar? Something that will compromise the safety of the team to know? Something Blackburn doesn't think they will be able to work through in the field.

The pieces click together in an instant and his stomach drops out like he missed a step, or 20. He feels like he is free falling at high altitude without an oxygen mask because all the air seemingly gets sucked out of his lungs in a vacuum and he gasps ineffectively for more. The world spins around him for a second and he finds purchase on a nearby tree to try to hold him steady amidst the sudden vertigo.

Clay.

His heart pounds rapidly, pulsing strongly throughout his entire body.

_"Jason?"_

He can't answer. Doesn't want to answer. He wants nothing more to do with this conversation and where he knows it's going.

"_Bravo 1!_" The concerning lack of response makes Blackburn's tone sharp, but there are still notes of regret and despair that are so obvious with a little hindsight.

Jason finally manages to form a sentence, squeezing out three painful words that take more effort than he thought possible.

"Is he dead?"

There is a sigh on the other end of the line, the gig is up. The answer isn't immediately forthcoming as Blackburn scrambles to regroup.

"Is… he… dead"

Jason has no patience and no sympathy. His voice drops low, biting out each heavily truncated word. A dangerous sign to anyone who knows him well.

Eric finally drops all pretenses.

"_Doctors said he's likely. Gave him less than 12 hours." _

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He turns so that his entire back is leaning heavily on the tree, bringing his head back to lean against the solid bark and letting it rest there with his eyes closed for a few seconds. Damn it kid.

He knew the kid was full gas, full heart and full pipe hitter complex. Knew there was a chance that they would have to deal with this scenario because Clay went out in some heroic blaze of glory. He thought he had gotten through to the kid though. That Spenser had managed to tamp his desperate need to be the best down a notch or two and come to trust his value to the team. Apparently this whole this with Stella had really knocked Clay's equilibrium off balance and now it was painstakingly obvious to see that he had swung completely back to the other side of the pendulum. Jason just wishes he'd caught it sooner. Wishes a lot of things, like that the kid was here right now to shake some sense into.

When he opens his eyes, Bravo 6 is still missing and still beyond his help. He can also see that things have deteriorated with his men. That his guys have given up on any pretense of maintaining their focus on the mission. Stopped pretending they aren't watching every second of Jason's exchange and analyzing every move he makes trying to figure out what's being said. Sonny evidently drew the short straw and is the one lone person with his scope somewhat still on the target just in case the HVT happened to make an appearance.

Its unacceptable. But he also couldn't care less right at this second.

He tunes back in to catch some of Eric's explanation. Now that he's given up on shielding them he is almost too forthcoming with the details.

_Late onset pulmonary contusion leading to pleural edema and increased respiratory difficulty… borderline hypoxic over the last 6 hours. Doctors officially classified it as acute respiratory distress system this morning and it's gone rapidly downhill from there to sepsis and multi-system organ failure. _

The words spinning around him as if they are in another world. Like they don't apply here if he just stays blissfully ignorant in the middle and doesn't try to understand whats going on.

Except that he does unfortunately.

Every soldier knows what blast lung is, having seen way too many good men succumb to it. It's a common problem, a common cause of death amongst soldiers who manage to survive the initial explosion. You don't need to understand the minutiae details of blood vessel damage or alveoli swelling to know that it's bad. It's like drowning from the inside out. Multi-system organ failure. is even more self explanatory. They've all heard those words before and it doesn't usually go well.

Damn it kid.

"_We are going to get you boys a plane back, try and get you back in time"_

He thinks he manages some sort of affirmative noise before cutting the connection and switching back to regular channels.

Jason runs a hand over his face trying to wash away any traces of emotion or stress, school his features back into some semblance of a neutral expression. Wondering if he can somehow get his team back to base without them figuring out why they are being pulled off. He fully understands Blackburn's desire to postpone the inevitable hard discussion now.

They are all on edge and this could easily send them spiraling over it. Sonny especially has been a loose cannon since the blast. It's not the kind of risk Jason wants to take. Preferably they can get back to base and have the awful conversation in a controlled environment and deal with the fallout there.

He clears his throat to announce his return and catch their attention which funnily enough is once again intently focused on their assigned areas.

"We are RTB boys. Delta team will be here to relieve us in an hour"

Their reactions would be comical if the situation was different. He can clearly see the same phases of disbelief and suspicion that he just worked through. When he doesn't offer any further details, Jason can see the questions bubbling to the surface so hardens his face further, daring one of them to call him on this and starts to pack up his own stuff. Silently willing them to just go along with it even though he knows he never would. .

Ray, ever faithful, follows his lead, although his creased forehead and tight set mouth betray his general unease with the situation.

Jason breathes a sigh of relief when Sonny manages to pick his jaw up off the floor and actually leaves in a huff to start throwing equipment in bags.

Ironically its Clay he knows for sure would have called him on it. Would have been completely unafraid to ask the question that Jason isn't sure he could come up with a plausible answer to right now if he tried.

In the end his downfall comes from the source he least expected.

"Just tell us"

The quiet plea stops everyone in their tracks. Jason, crouched over his bag hangs his head in response to the hoarse demand. So close, he was so close.

When he finally forces himself to lift it and turn around he is surprised to see it came from a resigned looking Brock.

That, he didn't see coming.

Maybe he should have. Bravo 5 is so quiet it's easy to forget the level of intelligence that lurks underneath. He doesn't usually offer much into discussions but when he does its pure gold and always bang on. Jason really isn't surprised he is the one who figured it out, he just is surprised that he vocalized it. That he's the one who pushed the issue. Then again the team's been thrown off kilter being down one man, so people have had to adapt and take on different roles and responsibilities and sometimes step outside their comfort zone in doing so. And if there is one thing he knows about Bravo 5 is that he is a team guy first. No ego. No pride. Just whatever he can do to support his brothers.

So maybe this is him supporting Clay. Because he sure doesn't back down on it. Standing in place and not flinching an inch under Jason's glare. Defiantly refusing to pack up until he gets an answer and when Jason doesn't oblige Brock ruthlessly goes all in.

"It isn't going to make a difference if you wait will we get back. He's still going to be dead."

Brock's voice is hard, flat and emotionless, right until it wavers on the last word.

Watching the cracks of all too relatable grief and despair start to show through Brock's mask. And then in a chain reaction of devastation that moves from person to person as they clue in almost undoes him.

It's another gut punch Jason wasn't prepared for, the exact one he was hoping to avoid out here. But now that the door is open he can't close it, and there is no point in withholding anything when they are already assuming the worst.

"He's not dead...But it's heading that way. They think if we get on a jet now we might be able to get there in time…."

The _to say goodbye_ goes unsaid. But they all know what he means. They've been there before not too long ago.

Fucking hell Clay.

The team isn't ready for this again.

He isn't ready for it again.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Explain it again…."

Jason groans under his breath, exhaling noisily and looking heavenwards to find some semblance of patience.

This has to be the longest plane ride ever.

And in that eternity Trent has already explained it at least 3 times. Maybe four.

"Sonny we already covered this"

Bravo 4 does an admirable job of not sounding too exasperated, but there is definitely a distinct tone starting to creep into his voice that isn't normally there.

They are all at the end of their ropes. Nerves fraying to the limit with nothing left to do but sit, and wait, and hope the kid is still alive when they land 5 hours from now.

Sonny refuses to wait idly, or even calmly, really. Instead he paces the side of the hull with all the leftover intensity of a mission not completed. As if he is still trying to accomplish a task and by making Trent dissect the diagnosis he will be able to find a plan of attack to do so.

"I know. You said some stuff, lots of medical stuff. And even a dumb ol' Texan can figure what blast lung is. What I don't get is why he was fine and now he ain't any longer. They said stable yesterday. Critical but stable. How the hell did we get from that to this in less than 24 hours."

Trent somehow ignores the baiting speech and Jason makes a mental note to buy the man a bottle of something nice when this is all said and done.

"It can have a delayed onset Sonny. The pulmonary contusion..." Trent hastily rephrases at Sonny's murderous expression, "sorry the bruise to his lungs can worsen for days after the initial trauma. Same as a regular bruise to any other body part. His oxygen concentration would have slowly worsened until it hit a breaking point. Then it's quite a rapid deceleration from there unfortunately."

No one has much to say to that.

The plane lapses into silence as each person tries to find a way to pass the time without going crazy.

Jason tries to stay busy with the much hated AAR's that he hasn't had the heart to do over the last few days. Still doesn't really. He isn't really sure how you are supposed to give a tactical review of something that happened off duty. This is typical Shaw for you. Idiot doesn't even understand what he is asking for, and even if it was justified Jason just plain out doesn't want to do it. He isn't going to critique Clay's decision to go outside the bar in any official capacity. It very well may be the last thing Clay does and he sure as hell isn't going to disrespect that even if every damn part of him wishes Spenser had done anything but that.

He gets distracted by a shift in the hammock to his right. Brock changes positions and then resumes stroking Cerberus' head gently. It's a picturesque scene, a big tough soldier cuddled in a hammock with his dog. Except the problem here is that Brock _never _strings a hammock. Their dog handler usually claims he doesn't like the movement of it and would rather lie on something solid and firm, or at least as solid and firm as you get thousands of feet in the air. Instead Brock and Cerb usually test out an impressive array of sleeping spots they manage to find throughout the C-17. In the truck bed... wedged between some crates...hell one time Ray claims he caught him curled up on top of a couple cases of SAMs. This trip Bravo 5 is evidently too miserable to be creative and doesn't seem to care about his usual issues with the hammock.

From there his gaze drifts over to Trent who is methodically checking and re-organizing his medical gear the same way he does before and after any mission. Jason doesn't have the heart to point out that they are unlikely to need it for a while. Their team will have some mandatory leave coming it appears and won't be spun up anytime soon. But if it gives the medic peace of mind, and is somewhat productive, or at least not harmful, who is he to criticize.

In contrast, Sonny's incessant pacing from earlier gave way to almost equally incessant drinking. It wasn't an ideal trade off.

Jason grimaces watching Sonny crack the top off yet another beer and down the entire bottle in one long swig. When he reaches for what has to be at least the sixth or seventh Jason finally clears his throat and causes the man to abort opening his next cold one.

Predictably Bravo 3 doesn't take it well.

"Christ Jay, we ain't working so we might as well be drinking."

He slams the bottle back into the cooler with a such a force that Jason is shocked it doesn't shatter. Bravo 3 pushes away from the bench and for a second Jason thinks he its over and that Sonny is going back to wearing holes in the floor. He can live with that as it's the lesser of two evils.

But nothing can be that easy right now.

Instead Sonny turns abruptly, apparently with more to say on the matter.

"This is horse shit Jason and you know it. Pulling us off the line to sit some warm and fuzzy bedside vigil. It's not going to do anything. Us catching the guy who did this, that's what we should be doing for Clay."

Some days Sonny is a child.

A sudden surge of anger, only partially at Bravo 3, has him opening his mouth when he really probably shouldn't have.

"He sat with you...None of us found it particularly fun to listen to you slowly drown in that God forsaken tube but we did it anyways" Jason suddenly finds himself on his feet to emphasize his point. "On the off chance Clay knows we are there for him, and even if he doesn't, this is more important than blindly chasing revenge just to satisfy your blood lust."

Sonny looks shocked and then stricken, reacting almost as if Jason physically hit him. He recovers quickly though and Jason watches the anger bubbling up and wonders if the Texan might actually hit him. He can't say he wouldn't deserve it. Instead Sonny gives an inarticulate cry of anger and physically wrenches himself away from his leader. He stalks down to the end of the plane visibly fuming and kicking a few hopefully not too expensive items over as he goes.

Jason can feel the judgement from Ray without even looking.

He doesn't need his 2IC to tell him he botched that one big time.

As the anger fades, he slumps back into his seat, defeated and starting to feel the familiar stabs of guilt that accompany some of his poorer decisions and less stellar moments.

Jason, better than anyone, knows what Sonny Quinn keeps his very large heart tucked way down deep under a facade of bravado and shallowness. He understands that most of Sonny's bluster is just a show, a defence mechanism, a way to keep himself from getting hurt if he allows himself to care. Just like Jason, Sonny tried to keep Clay at arm's distance for a good while upon his joining the team. Unwilling to take the risk about caring for another person he might end up losing. Unfortunately just like he did with Jason, Clay wormed his way in past Sonny's walls faster, deeper and with more persistence than expected.

When it becomes clear Jason doesn't have it in him to fix things right now, Ray gets up and goes after Sonny leaving Jason to hate himself a little bit more than he already does.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Five lifetimes later they finally arrive at the hospital and bulldoze through the ICU doors. Trent is the smart one who actually stops to ask for directions while the rest of them just piss off the nurses with a full scale, very uncoordinated blitz attack that gets them nowhere.

When they finally get the necessary details and locate the right room the team's invasion is held up again. This time by an unexpected force already occupying the room.

They stop in their tracks and stare through the glass door.

Jason isn't sure who he was expecting to be there. Maybe Ash, maybe no one, but he certainly wasn't expecting it to be Stella.

The brunette hears their not too stealthy approach, and even less stealthy reaction, and turns to face them from her seat next to the bed. When Stella registers their presence her face goes a few shades paler and she stands and attempts to make a hasty retreat. She clumsily gathers her things and tries to scoot out the door and down the opposite direction in the hallway without making eye contact.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Sonny finally has a deserving target for all his rage and isn't going to let it escape that easily.

"Sonny" Jason tone holds a warning. He steps to intercept the raging bull but Ray and Trent already have it covered. Each man with a solid restraining arm preventing their brother from doing something he would (probably) regret later.

Sonny Quinn on a normal day would never do something quite as career ending as to attack a female civilian. If nothing else he would tell you he was raised better than to hit a lady. But this isn't a normal day, or even a normal week, and there are no guarantees.

Stella flinches back from them, which probably should make Jason feel something. Instead everything is just a little robotic and a little empty right now. He feels nothing. No pity, no empathy, no anger, no surprise, nothing.

He has to give her credit because she turns to answer the question rather than continuing her flight and her voice is surprisingly steady.

"They called me. I guess he never took me off as his paperwork. When they called, I just... I had to know that he was alright. And then I didn't want to leave him alone, especially when…" she trails off looking sadly back into the room.

"Well we are here now" Jason says dismissively, Already looking through her into the room and ready to move on to what actually matters. The person inside who actually matters.

"I'll leave him with you then." She turns to go with one last lingering look back into the room.

Ray clears his throat pointedly. Glancing at Stella and then at Clay and back at Jason.

Jason doesn't have the time or patience or energy to figure out what exactly his second is trying to hint at.

When Jason just stares blankly, Ray quickly gives up and just says it himself.

"Did you want to say goodbye before we head in?"

Sometimes Jason thinks Ray is an entirely other species.

He has absolutely no clue how the man is able to look past all the emotion and all the pain, and find the ability to worry about Stella's feelings. Particularly about _Stella_'s feelings. Somehow he does though and on some level he knows Bravo 2 is right even if no part of him wants to take the higher ground or throw any kind of fucking olive branch out.

Stella was around long enough to figure out how things work on the teams. She waits until Jason finally gives a begrudging nod of approval before heading back into the room she just vacated

Sonny stamps impatiently and mutters obscenities under his breath as they watch her bend over Clay and give him a kiss on the cheek. She says some words to him that are lost behind the glass walls. As far as Jason figures there better be a few apologies mixed in for whatever they are worth at this point. Then she straightens up and leaves the room again.

She is barely past the door when Sonny breaks through all the tethers holding him back and charges into the room. The rest of the team follows in his wake, filling up the empty space and reaching out a hand to reacquaint themselves with their brother.

Before Jason can follow, Stella stops in front of him, tears shining in her eyes.

"I know I have no right to ask this...but would you let me know when he...when…" she seems unable to finish the sentence but it doesn't matter. He gets the gist and manages a curt nod around the lump in his throat that just reappeared at the implication.

The ironic thing is that she apparently actually has a legal right to know. He won't have a choice in the matter. Damn the kid for forgetting to update that paperwork.

Jason's lost track of how many times he's thought that over the last few days. Whatever the count is he adds one more "Damn it kid" to the tally when he enters the room and gets a better look at Bravo 6.

If he didn't know better he would think they were already too late. Clay is completely inert and lifeless except for the forced rise and fall of his chest thanks to the machines. And damn there are a lot of machines. It's actually hard to find the kid under all the crap attached to him. Tubes, wires, screws, rods,...He practically is a machine now by the looks of it.

The pale, broken person on the bed is a poor substitute for the Clay Spenser they had 3 days ago. Jason is still stuck on his last interaction with Clay before the blast. Can vividly see that Clay with his crooked smile, youthful exuberance and small pinch of swagger, talking passionately about his love for Bravo . That kid had his whole life planned out, ready to go, full speed ahead. This kid might not last the next few minutes by the looks of it.

Jason doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know who to be in this moment.

He stands in the middle of the room, frozen and unsure and berates himself for his uncertainty and for his inability to do this right for his team and for Clay.

All he knows is that he wants it to be last week. And that he wants to reach under all the tubes and ruffle Clay's hair in that affectionate way they all do just to annoy him about being the youngest. He wants to tell him that he has never once regretted his choice to pick him, even now, because he isn't sure Clay knows that and he should. He wants to assure him that Bravo will never be the same without him. That he left his mark and that no one for a second thinks that he is his father's son. He is his own, much better person and much better SEAL. And most importantly Jason wants to hold him tight and refuse to let him go anywhere. Not outside the bar to be a damn hero that night and certainly not anywhere now. He doesn't get to leave them, period

Jason finally forces himself to move and heads to the chair his team left open for him. He sits down heavily in the same spot at the head of the bed that Stella just vacated.

So many thoughts, memories and regrets continue to overwhelm him and he doesn't know how to pick which one to articulate first. Finally he settles for what he thinks would be most important if Clay could hear them right now

He reaches out and places his hand on Clay's arm, gives it a gentle reassuring squeeze and says "Hey Kid, we're here. We gotcha now."

0-0-0-0-0-0

_Runs and hides._

_Sorry to all the Stella haters out there. Yes she is around, but don't worry Bravo has Clay's back. _

_Next up Brock's POV. Everyone is going to get a chapter in this one._


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out they probably could have finished the stakeout

Probably should have known that too.

Clay is nothing if not stubborn and also really likes to prove people wrong. Has right from the start. Its an exasperating combination that drove most of the team to the brink of insanity, and almost violence, in his first few weeks with the team.

Brock is one of the more tolerant team members and for a while there even he wasn't entirely sure what the hell Jason was thinking with his draft pick. There was certainly no denying Clay's skill, unfortunately equally as prominent was his propensity for questioning those around him and an insatiable desire to prove his superior intelligence and skill at all times. It was a tad insufferable and pretty much guaranteed an oil meets water kind of situation right off the hop.

Brock could tell the new guy was actually really, really trying to know his place when he first joined the team. He found it very amusing watching the kid try to resist the urge to speak up when he knew he shouldn't. Clay would bite his tongue, fidget, go to say something, stop himself, shift uncomfortably, and then pretty much always give in and finally blurt out whatever it was he felt just had to be said. For whatever reason Spenser just couldn't seem to help himself from stepping in it no matter how many case of beer penalties were levied against him.

At first Brock figured it was because he was just another hot head. Guys like that are a dime a dozen in the military. Hell they have a couple on their team, not that he is going to name names. It can be an asset if harnessed effectively but if not usually leads to fizzling out pretty damn fast.

As the cases of beer pile up he begins to be less certain Clay won't end up doing the latter.

For the first few weeks he is content just to sit back and watch the fireworks roll and stay the hell out of the blast radius. Him, Trent and Ray keep their heads down and stay out of the pissing matches that occur on a daily basis. They keep in good spirits by placing over/under bets on how many times Clay will manage to rub Jason or Sonny the wrong way on a given mission. The over pretty much always wins though and after a while it became so much of a fool's bet to take the under that they have to give up on the game.

Somewhere in the midst of their first couple missions he can't help himself from beginning to get a little curious about Clay Spenser. There are just a few moments, scattered in amongst many, many infuriating ones, that start to make him wonder if they are all just misjudging the kid a bit. He starts to pay more attention, study his newest teammate with a renewed intensity and a rekindled desire to solve the puzzle and crack the code of what makes Bravo 6 tick. To his surprise he comes to the conclusion that most of Clay's more frustrating tendances seem to actually come from a place of insecurity rather than from his seemingly large ego. If you look close enough, and you really have to look closely and work hard to keep an open mind, its apparent that the kid isn't actually trying to prove his teammates are inferior to him, he's just trying to convince himself that he belongs.

The problem is the harder Clay tries the worse it actually goes for him.

It all culminates with one particularly bad mission that leaves Clay sulking alone at the front of the plane while most of the team drinks heavily at the back. Spenser had spent the first two hours of the mission somehow managing to run a foul of pretty much every single person on the team with impressive efficiency. Then as the final crescendo, and actually by no fault of his own and mostly just pure bad luck, he'd been the one who triggered a rock slide that took the team down and way off course and led to a couple bumps, a couple sprains and a couple really cranky team members.

Personally, Brock hadn't been that mad about the tumble he took. Or at least could objectively look at it and realize it was just the result of an unfortunate series of events. Cerberus on the other hand was less forgiving. The dog had growled and snapped every time Clay had tried to profusely apologize while Trent was wrapping his handler's bruised ribs. Even after Brock told him to stand down the dramatic dog lay there and glared reproachfully at the newest member of the team and let out a few periodic soft grumbles to make his point.

So Brock is a little surprised when Clay risks Cerb's ire again and seeks him out on the comfy pile of camouflage netting he found to rest on in the supply area midplane. The sheepish man gives cerb a wide berth and approaches from the other side. Brock can feel the rumbling vibration against his hip as the dog begins to growl in protest to Spenser's advance. He hisses a quiet "stop it" at his partner and when that doesn't work, follows it up with a small shove that threatens the dog with dislodgment from it's preferred spot. That shuts the mutt up.

Spenser stands uncomfortably for a minute, shifting his weight and glancing around the plane nervously. Brock isn't sure what the man is more scared of the possibility of the rest of the team finding him, or the furry menace giving him the side eye from Brock's lap.

It takes a minute before Clay finally works up the courage to speak, and when he does he catches Brock off guard because it isn't the attempt to apologize he is expecting.

"How do you do it?"

Brock raises an eyebrow… "do…?"

"Make it look so easy. You do your job, don't cause any fuss and go with the flow. How do you do it?'

Ah shit. How does he answer this.

It isn't really a fair question. Clay and Brock are vastly different people. And for that matter he doesnt think Clay should be like him either. Brock knows the value of easy going people like himself and Trent. If you had an entire team of fiery aggressive Texans for example they would self destruct before they got out the door on their first mission. Likewise six of himself might lack some of the risk taking and aggressiveness that is needed to do their job. A balanced team has to have a little bit of everything, Clay doesn need to be like him. He also doesn't need to be like Jason or Sonny all the time either. He needs to find his niche, his role, and what he can bring to the team to plug the holes and make the team better.

So really the short answer to his question is _you don't_. Bravo doesn't need another person to do it the same way Brock does.

Except the kid has taken a seat now, and is looking at him so earnestly, and so much like a kicked puppy, that he doesn't think that answer will cut it. So he thinks on it for a second longer, determined to find something more substantial to help make the distinction clear.

Finally he has an idea.

"There's this poem I like..."

He plows onwards, ignoring the way Clay stares at him like he has three heads. To be fair it's probably an unexpected response, and yeah, he's a bit of a nerd. He owns it.

"You should google the full thing, its by Rudyard Kipling and its pretty cool. All about wolf pack dynamics and the laws of the jungle. You'd be surprised how much applies to our lives, especially in the military and on a team like this. A lot of those dynamics affect our lives without us even realizing it."

He pauses to make sure he hasn't lost his audience, it appears Clay is still hanging in there though even if he looks somewhat perplexed.

"For example, the poem talks about the wolf pack and how the pack gets its strength from its members, and more importantly how its members get their strength from the pack. Bravo is exactly that, strong because of its members and stronger than the actual sum of its parts. The key point I think for you is that the wolves also get their strength from the pack itself. Its a two way street. You are no joke, there is no denying that. But you will be better with us rather than fighting us. You need to trust in our strengths to make you better rather than just trying to use your own. And you need to find your strengths that you can bring to the team to make us all better. You don't need to be like me, or like Trent, or Ray, or Sonny. We already have those guys, we need what only you can bring"

He pauses for a second, trying to make sure he remembers the words right

_"Keep peace with the lords of the jungle, the tiger, the panther, the bear;_

_And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the boar in his lair."_

Now Clay is really staring at him.

"We already have a tiger, a panther, a bear, a boar and hathi the silent. I'll let you assign those as you see fit, just maybe don't tell anyone who you stick as the boar, you are unpopular enough tonight as it is." He smiles softly to take the sting out of the last part "What you need to do is figure out what animal is missing."

There is an awkward silence for a minute and Brock wonders if he went too far and if Clay is going to run for the hills. He fully expects Clay to laugh it off and find a cop out response that will let him escape this awkwardly deep, poetry infused conversation, he probably never dreamed he was getting himself in for and likely highly regrets initiating.

Surprisingly though, the man stays in place and really does seem to be mulling it over. Eventually he gives a thoughtful nod and says "You know Brian tried to tell me the same thing in Green Team when I got bottom fived. A little less eloquently mind you, and he skipped the boars and the bears, and the poems altogether, but the point was essentially the same. He probably would be calling me an idiot right now for making the same mistakes all over again."

Clays smiles ruefully and with a sincerity Brock isn't sure he's actually seen from him yet.

"Thanks, apparently I needed a reminder, yet again, to pull my head out of my ass."

Brock can't help the laugh that escapes at that description, "Anytime."

Clay isn't done though "Would it have killed you to just keep it simple though. Maybe a little Sun Tzu…. _Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak_… or something like that"

Clay's lip twitches before he continues "I'm just saying most of his quotes are way less wordy, and a tad less embarrassing then something out of a children's book"

Brock is too impressed to take any offense to Clay's jibe.

One because Clay actually clearly got the message.

And perhaps even more so because not many people could make the connection between that poem, it's author, and its origins in "The Jungle Book." Technically, it's actually from Kipling's follow up novel "The Second Jungle Book" the content of which never actually made it to Disney or to Broadway despite sequels being produced. So yeah, that's some pretty impressive literary knowledge or conversely really, really, astute inductive logic Spenser's got there.

Clearly Clay has a bit more substance to him than he likes to let on. Brock has noticed the man reading some of the classics a few times during their downtime but he always assumed it was in an effort to woo the lovely professor he was dating. Now he is rethinking that superficial judgement and wondering if his newest teammate is maybe a little deeper than your regular pipehitter and that maybe is why him and Stella work so well. He decides to test his theory picking his own applicable Sun Tzu quote to counter.

_"To know your Enemy, you must become your Enemy." _

He gives Clay a wry smile and watches Spenser's brow furrow as he thinks the implication through. The man doesn't cop to the idea that Brock was just speaking to his level. Instead he gives his typical cheeky grin and goes for the redirect that Brock expected earlier.

"You know Hathi the Silent isn't actually all that silent when you get him going on 19th century literature. You could give Stella a run, maybe you should audit one of her classes in your spare time, or I could get you a book club invite if you want"

Brock laughs and gives the kid a shove "Get out of here before I sic Cerb on you. He holds a grudge longer than any of us do."

He watches the kid saunter a way with a renewed energy in his step and can't help but smile.

Baby steps.

Clay isn't going to let all his walls down or get past all the learning curves overnight. However, for the first time Brock begins to have hope that he might grow to actually like his new teammate...eventually.

Over the next few weeks he sees the kid making progress. Clay begins to bring his strengths to the team, rather than at the team. It's a subtle distinction but it makes a world of difference

Clay still has great ideas but he picks and chooses his times better to bring them forward, stepping up when they are needed and managing to let it be when they aren't.

He finds ways to connect with each member, even Sonny through some miracle. Brock isn't exactly sure what the pair got up to, but he has a pretty good idea because they both come in hungover as hell when the team gets spun up unexpectedly. And if it costs the team a few extra runs through the training course when they get back it's a small price to pay for a tentative truce.

And in the meantime Clay's value to Bravo grows all on its own. Without trying as hard he quickly learns to be the jack of all trades they sorely needed. Sniper, breacher, tactician, translator, you name it the kid can do it. His teammates begin to appreciate him more and more for his ability to do it all rather than resent him for trying to prove he can.

Things settle down nicely and Bravo gets into a groove. Right before they go on deployment Brock comes in to find a book lying on the shelf in his locker that he didn't leave there. It's a gorgeous first edition of "The Second Jungle Book" with a hastily scribbled post it note that just says "_thanks"_

The one trait that softens slightly but never really goes away is that the kid is damn stubborn. That was apparent from the very first time he ran with the team and went toe to toe with Jason as a strap. It stays apparent, although for the most part he usually manages to keep it under control.

Brock notices it usually pops up and becomes more of an issue when something else is not quite right in Clay's life.

Like when he is struggling on his first deployment with the team and all of a sudden the contents of his leg pouch become a hill to die on. For both him and Sonny.

Or when Ash's new book comes out and his appearances on TV mention information he probably shouldn't have had access to. Clay stubbornly refuses to talk about it, to anyone. Won't mention his dad, won't mention the mission, won't let them assure him that no one blames him, won't tell them what happened at the meetings with upper brass that he gets called into. So finally the team stages an intervention. Davis, God bless her, somehow manages to source out a pinnata that eerily resembles Ash Spenser's smug face. With Stella's help they ambush the kid and take him to drink some beers, bash some heads in, or at least one giant one, and reassure him that they are on his side whether he likes it or not.

Nevermind that time he was sick with the flu, sorry "just a cold" and continued to argue that it was "just a cold" even long after it turned into a chest infection mid mission and then ended him up in the hospital with "just a cold" aka Pneumonia after spending 36 hours huddled in damp, cold temperatures.

And let no one forget that time he got drunk at a bar, after they come back from Mexico and he has finally given up on denying Stella broke his heart. And Mr Language expert decides to argue with a native mandarin speaker about how many tones are in the mandarin language. He stubbornly sticks to his guns and refuses to accept the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he might be wrong on this one. So yes, just to reiterate, Clay Spenser, argued with a native mandarin speaker about their own language.

If that's not the definition of stubborn, and possibly insanity, Brock doesn't know what is.

So is it really a surprise that now Clay stubbornly refuses to do die like he is supposed to.

Or at least when he is supposed to.

They still say he will.

The doctor's are very clear on that fact, probably thinking they are doing them a favour by

refusing to let them build false hope.

As each hour beyond the initial window passes they continue to remind them that it will eventually happen. That this isn't survivable and that people don't come back once multiple organs start to fail.

And yet Clay just keeps hanging in there. He keeps surviving as if it's his one last defiant act to dig his heels in and say screw you to all the doctors. The ventilator keeps pushing his chest up and down and his heart somehow keeps beating, and so they remain in limbo, barely leaving the room. It's not their first time waiting by a teammates bedside, and unfortunately probably won't be the last.

The difference here though is usually they are waiting for the person to wake up. They are waiting for something entirely different here.

Where normally there is some level of hope, the atmosphere here is toxic.

Men like them aren't built for palliative care. For a long drawn out death that takes hours or even days. They aren't built to stand bedside vigils. There is a reason they all envision going out in a blaze of glory.

If he ever has the choice, just rip off the bandaid. A head shot. A grenade. Anything is better than this. He doesn't want _this_ for his brothers.

Because it's excruciating, every second of it.

Every somber expression on every nurse's face.

Every time the non denominational hospital Chaplin comes in and tries to make small talk with them or ask if Clay would like a prayer said over him.

Every new doctor who comes in to read his charts and nods in confirmation seeing what he or she expects to see given the diagnosis.

Its slower and more painful than Sonny's tube filling up drip by drip.

Somehow time does eventually pass enough that they reach a whole 12 hours past the initial estimate and the doctors begin to look a little baffled. A small cynical part of Brock takes some satisfaction in that.

The doctors finally start throwing around words he doesn't understand but basically amount to suggesting they resume their regular activities as it could take a while.

Sonny politely tells them to fuck off.

It's actually a small miracle that's all the man says given how short his fuse has been lately.

It's not just him either. They all are starting to show cracks in their armour as they find themselves in these uncharted waters.

Each member of the team is handling it in different ways, some better than others.

They do eventually have to take the doctor's advice and they fall into a routine, organizing shifts and rotating home to spend time with their other loved ones.

Jason doesn't speak much these days, really only to Clay. The rest of the time he is silent and withdrawn from the team so Ray takes on the task of organizing the rotation. Bravo 1 goes home during the day and spends time, and hopefully speaks, to his children but he always returns at night and is a fixture in the room overnight. After the first awful night in the uncomfortable chairs he brings his hammock back with him for the next one and hangs it in one corner. Surprisingly the the doctors say nothing.

Brock half wonders if Sonny threatened someone behind the scenes to facilitate that goodwill.

He wouldn't put it past Bravo 3 right now.

Brock certainly has never seen the man like this before. And even those who have known him longer seem equally concerned when they catch sight of him pacing and muttering, the very definition of a man about to lose it at the slightest provocation. Where normally he mostly blows smoke, right now he is a raging fire leaving scorched earth in his wake. Sonny is utterly volatile and completely unable to be reasoned with in his anger and resentment. Nobody, not even Ray, knows what to say to him or how to say it. Even if they did, he barely gives them the opportunity, taking his shifts and not a second more and avoiding any type of interaction as if his teammates have suddenly become tango's on a mission.

Trent passes most of his time talking to Clay's slew of doctors and reading his charts with a fervour bordering on obsession. Brock isn't sure who he bribed or what strings got pulled from above them but he seems to somehow have unfettered access to all charts/tests and apparently he would rather stare at that then have to look at the real life patient

Ray escapes for a few hours a day to play Dad or go to church. He usually comes back visibly refreshed and renewed from his life outside the hospital. The picture of mental health and positive coping mechanisms amongst his self destructing teammates.

Brock knows he should be happy for him and should follow suit. But Ray must be a better person than him because when he does go home to Amy a few times he apparently does such a poor job of acting like a regular human being that she shoes him away. Sends him right back to the hospital and lovingly insinuates that his brain and body might as well be in the same building.

He can't say she is wrong. It just doesn't make him feel any better. He should be better than this.

He also takes several breaks a day to go see Cerb. Then after the first day he says fuck it and just smuggles the dog in with him unapologetically and dares someone to say something about it.

The dog doesn't wait for a command one way or the other, immediately jumping up on the bed to snuggle up beside Clay. Cerb carefully navigates the wires and tubes with the same intense focus he applies to finding trip wires and explosives in the field. After a few precarious steps he works his way in and shapes himself into a tiny free spot next to Clays' left hip. Brock isn't dumb enough to test if the dog would listen to a command to get down. He's pretty sure he knows the answer.

The nurses come in and somehow don't see the large, brown Malinois with its head on their patients lap. They check Clay's wires and tubes and put more medications in and then leave without saying a word. It renews Brock's faith in humanity for a least a little while.

Really this whole experience has him confused on every front. At first he was certain Clay was going to die. He took some pleasure in the kid holding out for a while, but then started to wonder if it would be best if Clay just let go and was finally at peace since he was apparently fighting a battle he has no hope of winning.

But as the hours trickle into a day and then days (plural), and no matter how many times the doctors say it, he can't help but start to wonder. A tiny seed of faith replants itself and won't go away. All of a sudden he doesn't know what to believe, or what he is even hoping for anymore.

His brain tells him not to be an idiot. Medically he knows better. Clays vitals are in the tank. Every indication shows that his organs are still failing. That his body is still giving out under the trauma it has sustained, just at a snail's pace apparently. It doesn't take any sort of medical knowledge to tell that things are not going well.

And even if it did Trent has apparently made it his mission to always be there to explain just how bad things are. He continues to be brutally blunt. To read the charts and concur with the doctors and say that it's only a matter of time. It's like he feels personally responsible for making sure that nobody has any hopes to be dashed when this finally goes sideways.

He shoots them down whenever anyone, usually Ray, suggests something remotely hopeful.

He continues to emphasize the slow decline of Clay's vitals. Continues to spout statistics and explain in vivid detail just how much damage has been done to the kids body and just how many things are giving up the ghost as a result.

Brock wants to punch him sometimes.

He knows he means well. But sometimes he just wants to beg the man…. let us have it. Just let us be optimistic for all of five minutes and then you can drag us back to reality.

Even he has a breaking point. And tiptoeing around everyone else is exhausting and eventually he doesn't have the energy for it anymore. Jason's moody silence, Sonny's indifferent asshole impression, Ray's cheerful pep rally routine, Trent's one man mission to police all positive thought.

And apparently add Bitter Brock to that list.

He judges himself harshly for his own unhelpful ill humour. Tries to keep his mouth shut even more than normal rather than voice his uncharacteristically morose thoughts.

Tries to pull it together because his team deserves better. Clay deserves better from him.

Brock doesn't like where they are all headed and sincerely hopes this isn't the new normal post Clay. That Bravo can survive this and find a way to work through it. They will never be the same but he hopes they kind find some semblance of themselves that is better than this. Clay would expect that much of them.

So he goes for lots of walks.

Comes and goes frequently in search of his own therapy. Not afraid to admit he needs the fresh air and the break from the feelings and tension in the room

On their third day there, or is it fourth, he passes Stella sitting in the waiting room.

He sits with her for a bit just to do something different.

Doesn't ask why she is there.

Doesn't ask if she is going to stay.

Doesn't ask why she did it, because what does it really matter at this point.

She is here now, for whatever it's worth. And it might be complicated if things were different, but they aren't. So it isn't likely to be a problem and he isn't going to make it one.

Instead he just gives her an update, no strings attached, no overthinking things.

Cerb evidently shares the same opinion and leaps up into the chair next to her and snuffling his head under her arm, shamelessly begging for some head scratches, which she obliges.

They just sit there in silence for a few minutes before the pair finally heads back into the room.

He relieves Ray who heads home for the afternoon to see his little ones before it's past their bedtime.

Brock figures he has a few hours before Jason comes back for the night shift and he knows just how he wants to pass it today.

So he finds his favorite spot, perched on the window sill with his feet resting on top of the back of the awful plastic lounging chair, and cracks open the book he brought. He runs a hand over the cover of the only first edition book he owns, taking comfort in the feel of the crisp quality of real leather beneath his fingers. He cracks it open and flicks through until he finds the well worn page that has been found a time or two before. He clears his throat and then begins reading out loud,

_"__Now this is the law of the jungle, as old and as true as the sky,_

_And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die._

_As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back;_

_For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack_

_The jackal may follow the tiger, but cub, when thy whiskers are grown, _

_Remember the wolf is a hunter - go forth and get food of thy own._

_Keep peace with the lords of the jungle, the tiger, the panther, the bear..._

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_Brock's perspective of the team is just so fun to play with that I got a little carried away and this chapter went all over the place, past and present. And yes he ended up as a literature loving nerd. Im just as unapologetic about that all as he is._

_Hopefully there was a little bit more humor this time to help balance the heavy. _

_Oh and if its not already apparent. Ray already figured his crap out. I personally wasn't a big fan of that story line and Ray needed his head on straight for this story._

_Sonny is up next. Brace yourselves. _


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this one took so long, I spent way to much time wordsmithing it trying to get a bead on Sonny.

Hopefully you get the full authentic Sonny Quinn experience.

*** Trigger Warning - Implied Violence/Death of a Child ***

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Sonny will deny it to his dying days but he actually kind of has a soft spot for kids. He does his best to hide it behind a gruff exterior but over the years there have been a couple occasions where the team has come dangerously close to catching on to his secret. That one op in Yemen for example, was a close call. They'd jokingly called him the kid whisperer for a while after he bonded with the little guy over soccer and managed to convince him to reveal the cell phone location before his sister bled out.

On that occasion he managed to play it off as doing what needed to be done for the sake of the mission. After all, no one had wanted to hang around in that house a second longer than necessary with their drop dead time rapidly approaching.

Then Brock and Trent caught him trying to teach the finer points of _real _football to Lopez's kids in the compound in Mexico. Yeah, that one had been a little harder to find an excuse for. Patriotic duty as a Texan had only carried so much water and the good natured ribbing had endured long past their return stateside.

So he makes damn sure to give Clay a healthy eye roll when Bravo's kid deposits two dirty and shellshocked children in his arms outside the bar.

A guy has a reputation to protect after all.

He protests for good measure until Spenser turns his back and then tightens his hold on the littler one and plants a reassuring hand on the bigger chaps shoulder to steer him into safety.

Sonny is still a little wobbly with relief about finding his team whole and hale in the bar after the bombing. The second he heard the blast he was bracing for a different outcome, almost paralyzed with the possibility that his entire team might have been wiped out all while he was outside chit chatting on the phone. He honestly couldn't even spare a thought for all the people in the street that he rushed past with a focus on one thing only, get to his brothers.

Now he can consider what in meant for the rest of the world outside of Bravo and the carnage around them. Consider the fact that not everyone was as lucky as they were and that there are other people experiencing the very pain he was afraid of right now as they realize their loved ones have gone somewhere they can't follow. He can fully appreciate the miracle that it is these two boys surviving the blast seemingly unscathed, two innocent victims that the son of a bitch behind this attack won't get to claim.

He deposits them at the nearest table. Tells them it will be alright and scans around him for something warm to wrap them in. The Phillipine evening air is a comfortable temperature but he doesn't want to take any sort of chances. Just as he triumphantly discovers a discarded jacket caught up in the rubble, a weird movement registers on his radar at the edge of his peripheral vision. Years and years of experience tells him it's dangerous without actually knowing what he is seeing or why it's alarming. As he turns back he is busy preparing for several scenarios, planning to grab the little ones and hit the deck, trying to figure out how to best throw his body over them while also going for his ankle holster. His master plan is sharply derailed when he tracks the source of the threat back to the booth itself where both youth have exposed their suicide vests and are holding the detonators out towards him in their small little hands.

He holds out his own hands in a placating manor. They are empty and he gives no thought at all to going for one of the many weapons he has concealed within easy reach, even off duty. His mouth suddenly loses all moisture as if he is 3 crackers deep into the cracker challenge. He can't form any words, they probably wouldn't understand them if he could, so instead he just inches slightly forward hoping maybe he can get close enough to grab their hands. In response the older child slowly lifts his head, looking up to stare Sonny right in the eyes and his face morphs into a cold hatred that seems both foreign and familiar. Then in one triumphant and decisive gesture he releases the trigger and the room explodes around them in a fiery inferno.

Sonny wakes up with a gasp. His eyes dart madly around the room until he recognizes the sleeping forms of his teammates in the army barracks they have been racking out on the last couple nights. Gucci Phillipine hotel having been deemed not capable of providing adequate security after the unexpected attack.

He rolls over and uses his pillow to stifle the residual screams of anger and agony that threaten to escape as he transitions back into the real world.

Well that's a new twist.

A really, really fucked up one.

Usually it's Clay that burns nightly in his dreams. Tonight, apparently his subconscious decided to go a different direction. Then again the night is still young and he may yet revisit old faithful if he manages to go back to sleep.

They always start at the same damn moment.

Sometimes he knows exactly what is going to happen and still is completely powerless to stop it. He yells and no one listens, tries to hold onto Clay but finds no purchase. He runs to try to catch up to him but falls further behind. He runs and runs and wakes up gasping because he never catches him in time.

Other times he is as ignorant as he was then and gets to relive the shock all over again in its fully glory. It plays out just as it did, every gory detail, every suffering second felt again and again until he wants to wake up but can't seem to.

He doesn't know which variation is worse.

No matter how bad it gets, what creative torture his brain comes up with, he forces himself to lie still afterwards. To not attract attention when he wakes even though his adrenaline is pumping, his heart is pounding and all he wants to do is flee.

The only small mercy is so far his issue seems to be avoiding detection by his bunk mates. Nobody else seems to wake or take notice of the Texan's nightly struggles. He is immensely thankful for that as he knows if they were discovered he would have had to endure some awkward discussion that would be nightmares in themselves.

Cerberus is the only one who seems to pick up on any sort of disturbance. The first time it happened the dog skittered across the floor and stood in front of Bravo 3's bed preparing to jump up. Sonny ruthlessly ignored the mutt, rolling over to face the other direction and turning his back in a clear sign that the dogs affection was unnecessary and unwanted.

Instead he lies in bed after each one and reminds himself that the kid is going to be alright. Walks himself through the next day's mission and what the plan is to catch the dead man walking who caused all this, who ever that jackhole is. He ignores the set of canine eyes that settle for watching him intently from across the room, gleaming brightly in the dark marking the location of Brock's bunk.

Sonny Quinn doesn't have nightmares.

Never has.

And never has learned any way to cope with them or make them go away.

Doesn't have any time for emotional weakness or namby pamby feelings shit, and he certainly doesn't need their canine hair missle to play at being a cuddly therapy dog.

Refuses to start any of that now. Now is the time for action. For strength and for payback.

So when they get pulled out and go back to the states he just stops sleeping altogether. It's a simple solution and once he is free from bunking with the team there is no one to keep tabs of his sleep schedule or lack thereof.

The only minor problem is that if he doesn't sleep, then he's awake.

And when he is awake, he's angry. Burning up from the inside out as surely as when his dreams trap him in the explosions.

Constant anger hums below the surface. It makes him itchy. Like there is always something prickling along his skin. A current of electricity that energizes him and makes him need to move, and do, and fight.

In some respects it's the same surge of energy that he feels during a good mission. The vibe of being connected and engaged in something bigger than him. His whole life snaps into focus and is crystal clear. In those moment's he knows he was born to do this, that there never was another path for him.

Most people assume Sonny Quinn has been destined for the military his whole life. Raised from a youngin to be the all American perfect soldier.

He doesn't bother to correct them. And just to perpetuate that impression when people ask him why he enlisted he tells them it was because of a dare.

He's not lying, per say.

Except really the dare was to take a gender studies class his second semester of college.

Because yes, Sonny Quinn went to college for one short year. Very few people in his life know he actually wanted to be a lawyer from a young age. A career decision born from watching Law and Order religiously every night with his Gran-Ninny while his mom worked the evening shift at the hospital. He envisioned himself kitted out in a dapour suit, all full of Texan charm, laying down the law and putting the bad guys in jail.

So into college he went, actually had a decent time of it and got along real well with his roommate. The same guy who got the notion that would be hilarious if Sonny signed up for a gender studies class. The joke was on him when Sonny took the dare and unknowingly stumbled into a mecca of available women. Sure they were a little touchy on some subjects but if you learned what to say and what not to say the opportunities were endless.

Right before midterms the professor showed them news footage of a Taliban attack on a girl's school in the Kandahar province. They discussed in depth the political, religious and cultural motivations that led the innocent girls to be slaughtered just for trying to get an education. Sonny didn't accept those explanations, didn't want to talk about the bigger issues and the difficulties facing women in general in countries like that. He wanted to jump on a plane and fly halfway around the world and dole out some good old fashioned southern justice. Longed to personally slaughter those animals who dared lay a hand on innocent children. He had ants in his pants that wouldn't go away. Sitting in class, spending years studying to pass the bar no longer seemed like an option. The world's injustices couldn't wait that long, he needed to take action, now.

The military was the best way he could figure to do that. Immediate and more sure than sitting in a courtroom and dealing with rules and legal uncertainties. His decision to drop out and enlist damn near broke his mama's heart, afraid she would lose him just like her husband. But Sonny has never looked back and there is nothing more satisfying for him than fighting on behalf of those who can't.

He relishes that feeling of purpose and vindication each time he suits up and goes out to do his job. He believes so strongly in the men to his left and right and in the ideals and values that they are fighting for and that conviction doesn't fade through a couple long deployments in treacherous sandboxes where a difference is made one bloody grain of sand at a time. It doesn't wash out in BUDS even as wave after wave of salty water goes up his nose and they fail to beat it out of him in SERE although God knows they try. He still feels that current thrum to life just as strongly and his place in the world is reaffirmed every time his phone makes that distinctive sound.

Sonny was raised in the bible belt, and of course learned his scripture verses like a good little boy, but they never really held any power or sway in his life. When he becomes a Seal a new set of verses takes root and finds the power over his soul that the new testament never could.

_My loyalty to Country and Team is beyond reproach. I humbly serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. I do not advertise the nature of my work, nor seek recognition for my actions. I voluntarily accept the inherent hazards of my profession, placing the welfare and security of others before my own._

In retrospect it was so obvious he was built for this life.

He sees the world different than most. It's black and its white, and there is no time for the grey.

There was that one awful psychology class he took as an entry level requirement and he vividly remembers all the snowflakes around him freaking out about this one experiment they studied. Milton or Milgram or Milner or something like that. Whatever the whack job's name was who made his test subjects believe they were shocking people with an increasingly dangerous electric shock all to test his theory that people will do what an authority figure tells them to, even at the supposed expense of another human life.

Turn the dial up and electrocute the person again… Sure.

Turn the dial up even higher even though they are screaming kind loudly… seems bad, but if you say so.

It turns out perceived authority is a powerful thing because a lot of people cranked the dial right up past the warning label that said "lethal dose."

For most of his classmates the experiment was deemed appalling and unethical and the results it achieved were startling and disturbing.

Sonny never had much of a problem with it personally.

I mean sure if they were actually electrocuting an innocent person that might have been a different story. The idea though, that a person can be made to take orders and do extreme things, even kill. That seemed pretty clear to him.

Obvious even. Nothing groundbreaking about it.

It's why the military works for him. He does what he's told, most of the time, doesn't overthink it,

doesn't dwell on the body total attached to the business end of his gun over the years. Just points it where he is told and pulls the trigger when he is told and trusts the smarter people of the world to make sure the targets are the right ones.

For him it's real simple "us" versus "them" and he is all in on the "us" side.

_We train for war and fight to win. I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my country. The execution of my duties will be swift and violent when required yet guided by the very principles that I serve to defend._

When it's one of his guys or when it's someone who needs his protection, he can admit it affects him a bit differently. It's about the only times the lines blur a little bit.

His own moral code kicks in and demands retribution, justice and payback above all else.

He knows his reaction isn't always welcome and doesn't always make life easy for his teammates or his leaders.

Some of his previous COs have thrown around loaded words like "tailspin," "Obsessed" and "loose cannon".

Sonny doesn't really take offense although he might prefer "hyped up," "ruthless" and "Singularly focused." In the end it's all just semantics and in his mind there is nothing wrong with a little extra juice and a dogged determination to get the job done.

It only really becomes an issue when his plan for settling the score doesn't line up with his superiors. Because history has shown that he can't relax until it's settled to his standards. He doesn't believe in letting things go or letting other people handle it.

The problem is that is exactly what he is being told to do this time.

They get pulled off the line and sent back home to stand around twiddling their thumbs like they are the glorified wives club. He half expects to be asked to start baking casseroles any time now.

And with every day that passes he feels a little more on edge.

Like someone else has control of his dial and just keeps cranking it up. More restless energy. More trouble focusing. Less brain to mouth filter. More irrational desire to pummel the shit out of things.

He starts to actually feel his tentative hold on his sanity and his emotions start to slip out beyond his grasp and he doesn't know how to recapture it. He can't get the justice he needs to move on. Can't do anything but sit around and be an asshole apparently. He is antsy and insatiable, like a teething puppy who needs something new to pounce on every five seconds. He blows through bars and friends like they are disposable chew toys.

He knows he is ill humor to be around, vacillating unpredictably between sudden bouts of anger, at the kid, at whoever did this, at the situation, at the lack of response, at the doctors for not fixing things.

Just angry all around.

Sometimes he is content to sulk in peace, other times he lashes out, even he doesnt know which one is coming next.

His best and only solution is just to keep to himself, living by his mother's motto that if you can't say anything nice… shut the eff up. Okay, he may have paraphrased the last bit.

So he thoroughly ignores the disapproving looks from Jason.

Masterfully evades Ray's attempts to talk it through.

Pretends not to notice the way Brock is already avoiding him.

Tunes Trent out as a general practice not wanting to hear another damn thing about blood gases or urine output

Definitely ignores Stella when he sees her still lingering around. He knows his limits and that would be beyond his self control even at the best of times.

And he laughs loudly and dismissively when Blackburn finally pins him down and suggests he talk to someone. Cuz that went so well the last time. Sonny would love to know what notes the therapist made after their mandatory appointment where his patient showed up with a box of pizza and played games on his phone for an hour straight. Sonny had turned the volume off and offered to share the pizza so what more did anyone want from him.

No, he has his own therapy plans. Sees a therapist nightly, sometimes two or three. Although between the booze and the tips it probably costs him more than the exploitative rates most shrinks charge. Gives him more of a headache too.

When they touch down on American soil he is pretty much permanently drunk or hungover for the first 72 hours straight. In one of his somewhat sober moments Davis tries to intervene and in what is becoming typical Sonny fashion he lashes out.

He doesn't really know what he says but he remembers enough to know that he shouldn't have said it. Bottom line is he screws it up, like he deep down always knew he would. Doesn't know why he thought he could change. Why he thought life could be different for him. He doesn't know if he will be able to make it right again and that's just another thing to be frustrated and mad about. Another thing to add to the list of things to be angry about. His own inadequacy and the way he is handling this goes right to the top of it.

The words of the creed he lives by start to mock him. They float unwelcome into his mind after every poor decision and every lapse of judgement.

_I serve with honor on and off the battlefield. The ability to control my emotions and my actions, regardless of circumstance, sets me apart from other men._

He should be better. He should handle this better.

Instead he handles it worse. There are a few really bad moments where the dial cranks up higher than it should and the rage overwhelms him. The world blurs around him in a haze of booze, adrenaline and self destructive behavior and when things become clear again an undetermined amount of time later he is left with only foggy memories at best. He has to try to figure out what was a dream and what was reality, and more importantly where he has ended up and what the damage is.

If he's lucky he's on one of his teammates' couches and just has to deal with the looks of disappointment in the morning.

Other times it's less clear and more of a disconcerting puzzle to piece together. One missing chunk of time was punctuated by coming back to awareness to find his shirt and hands covered in blood. He feared he may have done something irreparably stupid until he found a reflective surface and realized that the source was just his own nose. He isn't sure who popped him one but there is a good chance he probably deserved it.

He resolves to be less of an idiot, but that willpower only lasts until after his next shift at the hospital and then this morning he woke up at a bus shelter with no shirt and fleeting memories of strippers, muff divers, and violently attacking a whack a mole machine with his bare hands.

So much for that plan.

The hours he spends at the hospital are pretty much always his undoing. Sonny just isn't enough of a coward to duck them altogether as much as he wants to.

He fills his shifts, not a second more, and sometimes less if others come early.

When he is there he feels like a wild animal with its leg stuck in a steel trap. Every movement, every thought, every second is agonizing but he can't escape, he has to stay in place. He would happily gnaw his own leg off it it would get him out of there.

Tonight is an extra trying test. The hospital is eerily quiet overnight, and there is minimal activity to help keep his mind distracted.

This is the first time he has ended up here at night, usually he's been covering the part of the afternoon that conveniently coincides with his somewhat recovery from his activities the night before and before they recommence for the next evening.

Tonight however, Ray insisted Jason go to Emma's recital on the pretense that the team had the night covered. Sonny is pretty sure this is an elaborate ploy by Ray both to keep Sonny out of the bar, and to try to get Jason to actually sleep in his own bed for the first time since they have been back.

Bravo 2 can certainly try but Sonny fully expects Jason will be back to relieve him soon after the recital ends. They will both be happier with that arrangement and Ray doesn't have to be any the wiser.

Unfortunately it's not soon enough. He is going stir crazy while he waits and isn't sure he can last the next couple hours here.

He tries to think of every annoying thing the kid ever did. And there were a lot of them, especially at the beginning. Focuses on every time Bravo 6 got a little too big for his britches or pulled down stupid stunt in an effort to stay mad rather than leave room for any other emotions.

It doesn't help though.

When he looks at Clay on the bed all he can see is himself telling the kid to be all in.

All in for Bravo.

All in to be a hero.

All in to going outside the bar.

All in to getting blown up.

All in.

The words taunt him.

They remind him of the part he played in Clay's decision and the inescapable fact that he should have known better. That he should have stepped in because he better than anyone knew where Clay's head has been at over the last couple months since Stella and Mexico. He should have seen the overcorrection, recognized it as a rebound. Clay had gone out and made Bravo his next fling and Sonny failed to realize it was a problem until it was too late.

The shame bubbles up to the surface along with the desperate need to do something to alleviate the growing discomfort. He needs to be at a bar right now taking the edge off, turning his brain off and letting that restless energy run unchecked in a series of stupid decisions until it tires him out. But he can't he is trapped. Held prisoner. Doomed to have to sit here. And just like a wounded animal he lashes out irrationally at the only thing nearby.

"You couldn't just get it over with could you. Always gotta be the drama with you. Can't just go with the flow."

His voice rises, gaining steam emotions pouring out in ways they shouldn't.

"You'are an idjit you know that... Just had to be the hero. Had to show everyone up and go back outside. Well look where it got you. Look where it got you. I'm done with this... "

He storms out of the room, and goes to find a bar.

Screw the kid and screw this.

Kid can't even die properly.

It takes 113 minutes, 5 blocks and exactly two double whiskeys too long for the surge of rage he is riding to subside enough to allow a hint of guilt to creep in and common sense to return. He quickly begins to feel like an even bigger crap human than before for leaving the kid alone.

Stubborn shit would probably pick now to die to make his point.

The thought doubles him over and he barely makes it out the back door before he is emptying his guts out in the alley.

When his stomach has emptied itself of his most recent bad decisions his wretches give way to sobs and then into gut wrenching soul shaking screams of anger and he lashes out onto the wall. This isn't fair. Clay didn't deserve this. They were drinking at a bar for christsakes.

His outburst has about as much stamina as he usually does. And as much as he bitches and bullshits otherwise, he really is more of a sprinter than an endurance kind of guy.

Within a minute or two he ends up in a heap on the ground, gasping for air, choking back the last few sobs with tears leaving trails down his cheeks and snot trickling down his beard.

He is an embarassing, disgusting mess of a human being.

This has to be some kind of low point. Davis would look at him right now and run for the hills.

Maybe it's a good thing he was already such an ass and sent her doing exactly that a few days earlier.

He is ashamed on every level. Of how he has been acting. Of leaving. Of his outburst. But for the first time for the first time since that bomb interrupted his conversation almost a week ago the permanent surge of energy and anger is spent. It's gone, replaced by a bone deep weariness and resignation about the reality of the situation.

It goes against everything he normally stands for but for some reason he feels at peace with it.

Never out of the fight. Except maybe this time there isn't anything left to fight except himself. Maybe there is no making this one right. It will never be right and maybe he is going to have to find some way to learn to live with that.

The nice thing about dive bars is that no one questions much and a person rushing out the back door is a common occurrence. There are no well meaning interruptions, no one checking in on him, he is able to sit in silence for a minute while he regains his composure and then he finally sets about peeling himself off the disgusting ground. The bruises on his bloodied knuckles make themselves known as he pushes to get up but he resolutely ignores them and gets moving, returning to the hospital as fast as his hungover ass can manage.

As he speed walks down the hallway he tries to look calm and collected or at least less out of breath and frantic then he actually is. It wouldn't do to catch the attention of a nurse or have a run in with base security and get caught up trying to explain why he is such a wreck.

No, right now all he needs to do is get back to Clay.

Only Clay isn't alone.

Stella jumps when he enters, fear and guilt making her look like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. She stutters out a hasty apology "I… Sorry, I...he was alone and I figured I would fill in until someone got back"

Maybe it's the relief of finding the kid still alive, maybe it's guilt about leaving in the first place, or the lack of sleep and real food in his system, or the four day booze induced hangover, or the emotional drainage from his little outburst, or maybe all of the above but the next words that come out of his mouth are surprising to both of them when he just mutters

"s'fine. I shouldn't have left."

Stella is caught off guard, clearly not sure what to make of the response given their previous encounters. Eventually she finally offers a tentative "me neither."

He doesn't know why it's funny. It really isn't.

But it also kind of is. It's painfully true on both accounts and it pulls a wry laugh out of him.

"No I don't reckon you should have."

There's a warmer tone and a hell of a lot less judgement in his response then there would have been a few hours ago. Funny the perspective time can bring now that he basically did the same thing. He bailed out on Clay when things got hard and his friend needed him the most just as surely as she did. At least Stella knew she couldn't handle it and told Spenser that upfront.

Stella's eyes drift down to his bloody hands and he tucks them in his pockets without a word. She wisely doesn't comment, and even more wisely seems to decide not to push her luck and leave before Sonny's good will runs out.

Meanwhile Sonny makes his way to the bed and leans over Clay and offers an apology for his ears only, "Sorry Kid, that was a real dick move."

Clays response is shockingly obvious and quick in coming. An obnoxious shrill alarm rings out in the quiet room, and then a few seconds later another goes off and joins the cacophony. Sonny can't begin to pinpoint which one is indicating a what. Where the hell is Sawyer when you need him. It takes the third monitor, the only one he can actually read because it's just the heartbeat one, to start beeping before it really hits him.

Oh no.

No you don't kid.

You don't get to do this. Not now…. Not like this.

Just because Sonny found some smidgeon of acceptance about it, doesn't mean he was actually ready for it to happen

He doesn't know what to do. For a brief irrational moment he starts looking for some sort of bleeding to stem or debates trying to start CPR. There must be something he can do. Except deep down past the panic the recently rediscovered logical part of his brain admonishes him that any sort of measures would just be forestalling the inevitable.

He looks up helplessly at the door, at Stella who is frozen in place halfway in the room and halfway out.

She just gapes at him and shakes her head wordlessly, equally helpless, equally lost. Her face screws up in tears and then she turns and hightails it down the hallway.

He can't find it in himself to hate her.

Especially because a large part of him wants to do the same.

But he takes a deep breath and stands his ground

He remembers his brothers, Clay included, standing faithfully by as he slowly drowned inside that infernal the tube. Remembers the comfort it brought him to know that he wasn't alone even at the end and even separated by a few inches of metal.

_"Lord let me not prove unworthy of my brother's"_

Sonny closes his eyes and prays the only prayer worth a damn in his book, asking for strength in this moment.

He takes a seat in the chair next to the bed and grabs Clay's hand, chick flick moment be damned. He holds on tight and tunes out the clamour of the machines with the same focus he uses in battle to ignore the bullets and chaos flying around him.

"It's alright Blondie, I gotcha. You hang on tight to me, it's going to be alright…

He has to stop to clear his throat but doggedly continues.

….There's nothing to it really, nothing to worry about. And there's a lot of good people waiting for you on the other side, they are gonna take care of you for us till we can again. Don't you be causing any trouble or grey hairs like you did for us."

This time he is interrupted by a noise at the door announcing the return of Stella with doctors and nurses in tow. The medical staff hurries to the bed and crowds in close but Sonny refuses to relinquish his spot, refuses to let go.

The room goes quiet as someone silences the ringing alarms one by one. There is an implied finality that confirms what he feared.

It's time.

There is nothing left to do and no way left to fight,

The certainty is almost welcome after so much ambiguity and it helps him make peace with things in this moment and just focus on being there for Clay.

The words come unbidden from deep within him and he recites them calmly and effortlessly, determined to ensure there is all the dignity and honour Clay deserves as they walk this last leg together.

_My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight._

_Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and feared reputation that I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed. I will not fail. _

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	5. Chapter 5

Trent comes to awareness from a dead sleep with a practiced ease at the first chime of his ringtone. He actually wakes up a split second before it even starts. He can't explain how he does it but it's a skill honed over many years and many sleeps interrupted.

In contrast, Susan doesn't even open her eyes to the noise, just shifts slightly to find a more comfortable position and is back asleep within seconds.

Late night phone calls are nothing new in their world and they are long past the phase where his partner, wife for all intensive purposes if either of them was willing to do the marriage thing again, used to get up to see him off for every mission. Now there is a well established rule that if it's after midnight and before sunrise, she loves him but she will see him when he gets back, whenever that is. Its low maintenance, low fuss and it's why this relationship manages to survive his crazy lifestyle.

Trent sits up in bed, swings his legs over the side and stares at the clock on the bedside table and then back at the phone in his hand.

He is absolutely terrified to answer it.

Knows instantly and with complete certainty what Sonny is calling about at this hour.

As impressive as Bravo 6's fight has been, it appears their sixth man has finally reached his limit. Everybody has one and medically speaking it's long past Spencer's. Trent is not at all surprised that Clay's heart, as big as it is, finally gave out on him.

So no, he doesn't have to pick up the phone to know what this call will say. Sonny isn't phoning at 1:30 am to discuss the weather.

The phone continues to ring unanswered in his hand and his mind races ahead.

He is already moving on to the next steps. They've had lots of time over the last couple days to think about those kinds of things. Lots of time on the plane and sitting in the hospital room to come to terms with the fact that their newest team member won't be coming back. For most of the team they have been trying to wrap their heads around what things look like in the future without the kid around. But Trent is a planner. He takes solace in being methodical and organized and making lists. Lots of lists. They help him stay calm and on task even in the hairiest of situations in the craziest of missions because he can break things down into manageable chunks and focus on achieving them one at a time. Right now for example there will be notifications to be made, funeral arrangements to sort out, Clay's locker to clean out and his dress uniform to prepare, he has it all set in his mind. Ready to put things into motion.

Then Clay's affairs will need to be settled. His apartment cleaned out and the lease broken. This close to base, realtors are used to it unfortunately. Same goes for his car, and other monthly bills. As far as Trent can tell there isn't anyone else in Clay's life who will take care of it all. His dad might sweep in to look mournful at the funeral. Will use it for some publicity, maybe stick a dedication in his next book, but he won't do what needs to be done.

Doesn't matter though. Clay's real family will pick up the slack.

And Trent is ready.

He's been ready for almost a week. Couldn't resist holding out a little bit of hope on the plane ride home, wondering if Blackburn or the Doctor's were over exaggerating to prepare them just in case. They weren't. And once he saw the charts and the patient himself, he knew full well it was only a matter of time. So he had done all he could to prepare himself and the team for this inescapable moment, this inevitable phone call.

And yet he still finds himself staring at the phone in his hand.

It's still ringing and he still hasn't answered because despite his best efforts he actually _**isn't**_ ready.

He isn't remotely ready to bury another team member or to clean out another cage. Is even less ready for those painful moments that will come when they go out to the bar or to a mission briefing and there is an empty chair and an empty silence where Clay would have been. He definitely isn't ready for the glaring absence of Sonny and Clay bumping fists about stupid shit, or Brock and Clay discussing nerdy things when they think no one else is paying attention, or Ray and Clay good naturedly and sometimes less good naturedly competing for the big shots in the big moments. And he knows Jason will actually miss the challenge of trying to groom the younger man to be a future team leader without inflating the kids ego too much. Bravo 1 tries really hard to stay annoyed when Clay oversteps and is right, the same way Trent tries really hard to be stern when he inevitably catches Spencer hiding some injury he should have disclosed hours ago. It's just practically impossible to maintain a hard line when the kid gives you that sheepish grin and an earnest, if flawed explanation, about why he figured it could wait.

A hand on his shoulder shakes him out of his reverie.

The extended ringing has woken Susan up all the way and given her time to come to her own conclusions about what it probably means. She squeezes his shoulder sympathetically from behind and then evidently reaching the conclusion that Trent may never be able to make himself take the call, she leans around him and flips the phone open to press the answer button. He feels the weight of the bed shift as she settles next to him on the edge of it. A solid presence at his side that he leans into gratefully as he finally lifts the phone to his ear.

He manages to press the disconnect button all on his own a few minutes later, barely.

His hands tremble as he closes the phone and he glares at them in annoyance. His hands don't shake. His hands can't shake. They need to be solid and precise in any crisis to ensure the lives of his brothers. There is no time in the field to miss a vein or botch an intubation because he can't control his emotions.

Trent sits in silence for another moment. Trying and failing to push back the surprising onslaught of grief, shock, and uncertainty that threatens to sink him.

He thinks he manages a nod when Susan squeezes his arm and says she will put on a pot of coffee.

That's probably a good idea.

If nothing else it's the middle of the night, but on top of that he is exhausted from trying to interpret Bravo 3's very agitated and somewhat nonsensical call.

It initially didn't make any sense.

He had to tell the man to slow down and take a couple breaths more than once in the brief conversation. Wanted to phone a friend for translation assistance more than once because he swore the Texan was not actually speaking English.

Finally, with a few repetitions, Trent could start to decipher the key points and get the gist of what his teammate was trying to say.

Except it made even less sense when he did.

It did not compute. It wasn't possible.

And then he had to make the man repeat it a few more times for an entirely different reason. Just to be sure he really was hearing it correctly.

Sonny must be wrong though, has to have misunderstood the situation or something. The man hasn't exactly been firing on all cylinders lately so it's completely plausible he missed a key piece of information or something.

Trent is convinced of it. It has to be human error or a misinterpretation of the situation. He needs to get down there and clear things up before any more damage is done. Before the rest of the team is mislead as well.

It's that new focus that gets him moving. He manages to throw some clothes on, downs a few swings of caffeine that fail miserably to clear his foggy head, and then drives in a daze to the hospital where he stands and stares at the monitors in disbelief.

He isn't the only one. The entire team has congregated all in various states of disarray and sporting various confused expressions

Trent has no answers when his guys turn to him for an explanation.

He can't give them one. Can't reassure them if this is actually real or not.

Because it doesn't make sense.

There is no scenario that makes sense for Clay to still be alive, never mind for there to have been a slight improvement. For Bravo 6 to be fighting the ventilator so much so that the doctors had to turn it down to a lower setting.

Sure he can explain _what_ happened.

That's actually pretty easy. He fully understands and accepts the science behind Clay's apparently increased respiration overpowering the high settings on the ventilator. Can easily explain the chain reaction of the resulting stress to different systems causing his blood pressure to climb and his heart rate to become even more erratic. The end result being all sorts of finely tuned monitors freaking out and screaming in displeasure.

As for _Why_ it happened…. he has no fucking clue.

There is absolutely no way to explain _why _Clay's lung function suddenly improved after being steadily more and more non-existent for the last 6 days. People don't come back from ARDS and even if they did they certainly don't do it after this long. It's a well accepted principle the longer you spend on a ventilator the least likely you are to ever come off of it.

Principles like that are well accepted for a reason. There's a shit ton of testing and evidence behind them. The same goes for pretty much everything in the scientific and more specifically in medical fields. Those are supposed to be absolutes too. Predictable certainties and constants that Trent can rely on.

Science is what allows him to calmly assess a situation and triage even when the world goes to shit around him. Science doesn't care what is going around him, bullets or bombs be damned a pneumothorax is a pneumothorax. Science also doesn't care if it's your best friend or Bin Laden himself bleeding out under your hands, the body still only can lose 40 percent of its blood before its fatal so you better find a way to stop that bleeder.

First aid in general has clear rules (Circulation, Airway, Breathing) and lots of fancy acronyms (MARCH - Massive Hemorage/Airway/Respiration/Circulation/Hypothermia) for the same reason he likes lists. To put some order into chaos. Traumatic injuries could be overwhelming when there is a bloody, screaming patient thrashing in front of you but following the rules, evaluating step by step, that will save a life.

Same goes for triaging...red, yellow, green, even black, Trent can make those decisions without a second thought, can even assign odds and give percentages with confidence. It science, nothing more than a methodical assignment based on pre-set criteria or assessment and prediction based on well developed data.

Yes, there is always room for a little bit of the unexpected, individual factors that influence things.

He has seen men hang on through severe trauma and push through extreme factors to get the job done. Hell most of the men on his team have done it on more than one occasion against his recommendation to boot.

But there are some basics that just aren't surmountable.

Scientifically speaking this shouldn't have been surmountable.

He finds himself unable to join the rest of the team's jubilation, unable to believe it's real. Because it shouldn't be real, can't be real. Without some sort of explanation it just feels like they are just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It puts him weirdly at odds with his team and he feels the distance as he inadvertently stands aligned with the doctors who are equally perplexed and equally reluctant to offer any hope or any sort of promises about where this might go.

It's not that he doesn't want to join them and just embrace it, but his joy is muted and muffled deep beneath all the uncertainty. Where there should be elation there is just numbness and confusion and distrust of the situation.

Is it just an end of life rally? He can't explain that phenomenon per say but there is a ton of documented instances of incredible and very temporary improvements where loved ones "rally" for a last few good hours before they finally let go. If that's what this is it would at least make some sort of sense, but again the key word is _temporary_.

Is it just a fluke? Some sort of bug in the machinery detecting something that isn't there? Or is it just wishful thinking or overreaction on all of their parts?

Except Clay's vitals are undeniably a little improved according to the very expensive and usually very accurate machines, and they continue to hold steady through the rest of the early morning hours, and then throughout the rest of the day.

The next day his lung function actually marginally increases again and this time it's Trent and Ray who have a ringside seat to the panic inducing scenario that Sonny endured alone. Trent can totally see why Sonny thought the kid was dying. When doctors talk about "fighting the ventilator" people picture that Hollywood version where a person wakes up still intubated and thrashes around trying to pull out their own tube. In reality its the subtlest thing and completely undetectable with human eyes. It's the tiniest dysrhythm between the ventilators air pressurization and Clay's lungs now taking in a bit more of their own air that triggers all sorts of chaos between the multitude of sensors that monitor his oxygen levels down to the molecular level. Even with his medical knowledge, and the hindsight from Sonny's ordeal, he still found it majorly disconcerting when the lionshare of the machines suddenly start suggesting a problem all at once and loudly. The doctors come in and turn off the alarms and then make a minute adjustment to the ventilator setting. This time they know what that means, that it's actually a win. A small step forward. Even still their own heart rates are a long time settling after the scare.

In contrast, Clay's heart rate returns back to its previous rhythm quickly after the incident and then over the next few hours it actually becomes stronger, steadier and less erratic. Over the next 24 hours there are less intermittent periods of tachycardia and bradycardia and his heart settles into a more normal rhythm for longer and longer periods of time.

As he somehow continues to gain strength some of the medical interventions that have so far been waging a war in futility are actually able to gain a bit of traction.

The dialysis starts to clear out some of the toxic levels of chemicals that have accumulated in his bloodstream while his kidneys were on vacation and after a few days his kidneys decide to go back to work. It's a gradual return to work program, and the dialysis machine still has to fill in part time, but it's more than anyone could have hoped for a week ago when basically none of his organs were functioning. Not to be outdone Clay's liver function begins to increase as well and within a few days the kid thankfully loses that awful yellow tinge to his skin. It's the first somewhat visible sign of improvement and it bolsters the team who are impatiently awaiting each new development.

Still no one can really explain it, but when it becomes clear that Clay really is going to keep improving the Doctor's abandon Trent all alone on the sinking ship formerly known as the skeptics' team. They throw their hands up and proclaim it a medical mystery. Ray in turn calls it a straight up miracle, seemingly more convinced than ever in a higher power. The rest of Bravo team prefers to chalk it up to some sort of Bravo mythology and the strength and bravery of legends.

Trent doesn't accept any explanation that starts with the letter "m" on principle. Words like mystery, miracle or mystique do nothing for him. He remains steadfast in his relentless search for answers in every test, every scan, obsessively checking for anything that might indicate an imminent set back or a scientific way to explain what the hell happened.

Sonny tells him to stop being such a wet blanket and Jason who is almost giddy with relief and apparently can speak again attempts to drown out anything remotely negative with a loud and truly childish "La-La-La".

Brock gently suggests that perhaps Trent is holding too strongly to his pragmatism as protection blanket.

Trent firmly ignores Bravo 1 and 3 but has to admit that Brock probably hit the nail on the head more than he knows with his assessment. It eerily echoes some of the undertones the psychologist tried to discuss with him. Threw around the typical "PTSD" descriptors that they have all heard a million times but then for some reason had focused in on discussing how anxiety can linger and how the brain copes by staying on high alert and assuming the worst is always coming. Trent refused to acknowledge that even a part of that had felt scarily accurate on some accounts even if he was self aware enough to realize it kind of did.

So yes, maybe he is still trying to protect himself by remaining braced for a crash. And maybe, just maybe that crash truly isn't coming anymore.

Because by the next week, and several more heart stopping moments for the team later, the kid graduates to breathing on his own with just an oxygen mask.

And then a few short days later he is down to just a cannula.

People start to actually talk about him waking up. It becomes a real possibility to be postulated, theorized and estimated.

Trent stops worrying about the kid backsliding and his very talented, and maybe overly anxious brain, easily adapts and finds new things to stress about. Like that _if_, and it's still a big _if,_ the kid does wake up there is a good chance he may not be anyone recognizable to them. Somewhere between the traumatic brain injury, lack of oxygen and weeks in a medically induced coma there are a lot of reasons for Clay to be permanently disabled.

He isn't sure if that won't actually be worse after all this.

He continues to worry about it until early one morning, twenty four long, long days after that fateful night, a pair of very familiar blue eyes blink blearily up at him.

Suddenly all the how's and why's don't seem quite so important any more. Trent doesn't have the time or inclination to think ahead or worry about any future problems. All that matters in this moment is that Clay is awake, and staring at him with apparent familiarity behind a heavy dose of drugs and confusion. The kid tries to talk, winces in frustration at what has to be one hell of a torn up throat, and then resorts to mouthing words with a frown.

It takes a few tries, but Trent is able to discern two words.. Or at least partial ones.

"Team….K?"

Trent wants to laugh and cry and all at the same time because of course that's what the damn kid wants to know first. He can't seem to find his voice right now either and has to resort to an emphatic nod.

That seems to be enough for Clay whose heavy eyes are quickly drooping shut. He is back asleep before any of the doctors make it to the room. But Trent is happy to exuberantly fill them in. Its as if a dam somewhere inside him has broken and all the numbness, doubts and anxiety can begin to drain away. He feels lighter, freer and for the first time in weeks there is real, unadulterated joy and Trent decides he doesn't give a fuck about Science right now.

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_Hope everyone can breath again. Sorry to all those I traumatized, including Sonny and Trent_

_I swear I worked extra hard to get an update up quickly so as not to leave you suffering too long. Sleep is pretty overrated anyways ;)_


	6. Chapter 6

When the phone starts ringing in the alley Clay experiences the epitome of an "oh shit" moment.

The sound is foreign and out of place and stands out shockingly loudly against the backdrop of people screaming and sirens in the distance.

In retrospect the second bomb is such an obvious play. One bomb to do damage, a second a few minutes later to catch the first responders and really make headlines. It's a classic maneuver, one they would have anticipated 100 times out of a 100 in the field.

The only saving grace is that who ever is behind this apparently got their timing wrong because the first responders aren't here yet and it's just his dumb ass wandering the streets trying to be helpful.

He stares at the backpack in horror, starting to turn, to run, and also fully aware he won't be fast enough. It won't matter.

Clay's brain races ahead quicker than his feet can move. He wonders if he will end up looking like Adam? That is if there is anything left for the team to find. And if by some miracle he does somehow manage to survive this Jason is for sure going to kill him.

The ringing stops.

The silence is deafening.

And then so is the explosion.

He is lifted off his feet and flies through the air and into the black night.

When he comes to he is in a hospital bed. Trent is there, the team is safe, and that's about all he can wrap his head around for a long while.

Faces and words blur around him and don't make a lot of sense until finally they do. He doesn't know how much later that is just that there is still a heavy weight on his chest and every breath takes everything he has to pull in enough air. Even with the tubing under his nose feeding him extra oxygen the sheer effort of breathing is exhausting and he can barely keep his eyes open let alone think.

As he starts to become more aware he realizes he's been injured badly enough that they are pumping the good stuff. The floaty, cottony filter is pretty distinctive and envelopes his body and mind. He's fairly certain there aren't actually panda bears in the room, yet he sees them standing there between Sonny and Brock as clear as anything else. Which come to think of it isn't saying much because everything has a weird colourful haze to it.

It's not his first rodeo. He knows the drugged to the gills, just coming out of Anesthesia feeling well. There have been a few battlefield injuries and that one embarrassing appendix incident that have led to a few uncomfortable wake ups in situations like this.

In particular there was that one bullet he took to the side on his second ever deployment. He may or may not have ignored it until the end of the mission two days later. And it may or may not have gotten infected. And he may or may not have passed out and woke up feverish in the hospital a few days later after a hairy surgery and a whole lot of antibiotics.

There are a fair amount of similarities here and he is equally fuzzy on the details of what actually happened this time. Wonders when he will be getting a lecture from Jason about whatever stupid thing he did.

In his few more lucid moments he can vaguely remember being at the bar and then an explosion. Remembers an impressive amount of airtime and imagines he probably didn't stick the landing at the end. So best guess based on that and what he can feel is a concussion, probably some broken ribs and a good chance of some sort of internal bleeding. Those injuries would make sense considering the excessive fatigue, defective lungs and the fuzzy swiss cheese brain he's got going on. It feels physically impossible to hold onto any sort of thought train for longer than thirty seconds at best and any sort of complex thought is completely beyond his grasp.

He figures he will sleep it off like he usually does. A few transfusions, a few days of rest and he will be good to go.

When he is finally aware enough to track the constant carousel of visitors in his room, he gets a startling idea of how much time is actually passing. There is no clock and no natural light to tell him that, but he doubts Jason has visited 6 times in one day so he is obviously doing a lot more sleeping and a lot less healing than he thought.

Over time Clay manages to coral his scrambled thoughts into something remotely logical and becomes acutely aware of two things.

He is pretty fucked up. That's becoming more and more clear, both from the pain he does feel and the pain he can tell he should be feeling if not for the very potent cocktail of narcotics masking most of everything. But something is definitely wrong. Like more wrong than some broken bones or a concussion. He doesn't feel on the mend and if he could manage to lift his head off the pillow he is starting to fear what he would find.

No one seems inclined or in any sort of hurry to fill him in on these missing pieces of the puzzle.

His extensive mental list of two items is exhausting. Still he clings to them, repeating them in an effort not to forget again even as he gives in to the fatigue and the drugs and the desperate need to sleep once again. Each time he reawakens his clear list is a lot more abstract, the concerns are vague and discombobulated. His team hovers nearby and utters conflicting reassurances that everything is alright. They tell him just to rest and his body agrees with their assessment so he doesn't fight it. He trusts them to handle whatever is behind the nagging discomfort and anxiety he can't quite fully understand. Instead, Clay chooses to believe them when they say he will feel better soon. That things will be better soon.

Eventually though he does start to wonder what their definition of "soon" actually is.

He must be getting better. It just doesn't quite feel like it. He actually feels worse. Can tell they are weaning him off things slowly because the previously deadened pain prowls nearer to the surface everyday and even begins to rear it's head at sudden, jarring, breath stealing moments. But he also correspondingly now has enough mental capacity to realize just how bad off things really are. To feel more and more concerned about the fact that he is still flat on his back, weaker than a kitten and not really sure what is going on with his body.

"Soon" enough he stops being satisfied with the platitudes and starts to want to actually know what the damage is. Its now glaringly obvious that this is no basic injury or basic surgery and that its probably really, really bad. In hindsight everyone's intense need to tell him it's going to be fine, should probably have been his first clue that it really isn't.

The doctors ramp up his treatment schedule. He loses track of time and motivation as he goes in an out of procedures, sometimes two or three a day. They probably tell him what they are doing and where they are taking him but he finds it hard to process or keep track and quickly stops trying. He accepts the seemingly unending cycle of daily procedures and the not always very pleasant consequences afterwards.

On the better days they just replace tubes and change bandages.

But more and more frequently now that he is supposedly stronger they go for the more aggressive treatments he apparently needs.

Sometimes there are surgeries that knock him back a few steps. They ratchet the pain up substantially and repeatedly coming out of anesthesia makes him nauseous and miserable.

Worse than that is the procedure he has come to dread more than anything - debridement. His stomach clenches when he sees that doctor and nurse coming through the door in their special outfits. They don't even ask him for a pain rating, just shoot him up higher than a kite right off the bat. Somehow it still manages to be the worst thing he has ever endured. Give him SERE or hell make him a real prisoner of war, just please God don't make him sit through someone peeling layers of dead, infected skin off his burns piece by excruciating piece.

It's all he can do just to survive each day and there is minimal time to actually do much thinking. Unfortunately no one seems prepared to volunteer the information he is looking for either so he is at a bit of an impasse and does not have the energy to force the issue.

Maybe the morphine is making him paranoid but he's pretty sure they have put a gag order on his nursing staff and doctors. They do an impressive job of making him feel like he is in the loop without actually telling him jack shit and it takes him a while to realize it. They cover the bare necessities, basically just what kind of torture they will be doing to him that day but provide nothing of substance that tells him the big picture. It starts to feel like a conspiracy because his teammates are equally tight lipped. Even Sonny chooses his words carefully, something Clay didn't actually thing was possible. He starts to chafe at the lack of information and at being treated like a child. It's his body dammit.

That all changes one day when Jason steps out to take a call. The rare lack of supervision just so happens to coincide with a day where a pretty new nurse named Tiffany is covering his rotation. She has kind eyes and seems sympathetic to his plight when he explains that the doctors gave him a run down last night but he is having trouble remembering it all today. He only feels a little guilty when she buys it hook, line and sinker and takes the initiative to go find his chart to "refamiliarize" him with what was said.

She reads a lot of things that confirm most of his suspicions.

Third degree Burns - check

Broken bones, a hell of a lot of them below the waist - check

Internal bleeding - check

But then she keeps going and there are pieces he isn't expecting and words that start to scare him.

Nerve damage

Nerve Grafts

Skin Grafts

Sepsis

Acute Respiratory Distress

Prolonged ventilation

Organ failure

Shit.

As far as he can tell it boils down to …. Lungs bad…. Legs really bad…. Prospects… bad.

Oh there also was apparently a 3 week coma. That's surprising news that he has a hard time processing. He has no concept of that lost time and almost feels a little gypped. There weren't any visions of an afterlife, he didn't get to commune with lost loved ones or relive scenes of his life, to him it pretty much felt like he closed his eyes and woke up in the hospital moments later. He knows that probably wasn't a realistic expectation but still, 3 weeks. You would hope for something deep and meaningful in there.

Now things make a lot more sense. It's about what he has pieced together but also so, so much worse.

The cherry on top of it all is that apparently he is supposed to be dead. Like really supposed to really be dead, like really dead.

The nurse used the word miracle and blessed herself at least 4 times during her explanation.

So that's kind of interesting and unexpected

She finishes by reading the doctors cut and dry assessment, "_Despite successful nerve grafts the neural pathways in patients femoral region are unlikely to heal fully and there is an ongoing risk of sensation loss that would compromise safety in the field. Reassess at 6 months after physical therapy and potential muscle regrowth, however there is a real possibility that Petty Officer Clay Spenser will never operate again"_

Ongoing risk

Compromise safety

Never operate again

The words repeat over and over again. Hammering home what he thinks he was already beginning to suspect deep down. What everyone neglected to mention in their fucked up version of "everything is going to be fine"

Tiffany's voice falters, picking up in the change in the room. She swallows apprehensively, maybe realizing that she may have probably shared too much and that the last bit was likely never meant for patient ears, or at least not meant to be delivered in that way. She studies him, eyes bright with concern, and he manages to dig deep and push down all the emotions bubbling up and plaster on a somewhat convincing mask. He assures her that nothing is wrong, his legs are just aching. It's not untrue. They do ache. Constantly, unbearably, and now that he knows just how much destruction is hidden beneath those sheets he isn't surprised.

He lets her fuss over him, lets her insist on getting additional pain meds because it will make her feel better and also because this is one time he is ok with not being able to think anymore. He lets the drugs take him away into an oblivion where he races effortlessly through the obstacle course, laughing and sprinting past Brian to win at the end.

Too soon he is back in his bed though. Prisoner in this body he no longer recognizes and now fears he may never again.

He spirals for a while, caught in a nasty cycle of self pity and self loathing and loses sight of any semblance of the model patient he should be. Without the erroneous belief that he will be back on his feet and back with the team at some point it feels hopeless, and the effort required too much to ask for. He comes to hates every damn tube and wire that he is reliant on. Abhors the fact that he can't even wiggle a single toe and every pugilistic attempt to do so causes his legs to erupt into a new level of fiery hell. And unbeknownst to his visitors their optimism stops feeling encouraging and starts ringing a hell of a lot more false in light of his discovery.

Clay wants to scream anytime anyone uses a tone that suggests this isn't so bad considering...

He wants to ask them _considering what?_… the alternative. No shit this is better than that.

But don't ask him to feel grateful about it. Not when he doesn't have control over the simplest things in his life. He can't stand being reliant on people to tend to his every need and now fears it will be a permanent situation going forward. His cheeks flame when the nursing staff's operational efficiency means they come in and lift sheets and check tubes and talk about bodily functions in front of his ever present visitors. For the most part the team has learned when to take a cue and give him some space but there are a few, _cough_ Sonny _cough _who blatantly ignore any such suggestions.

This simplest things annoy him more than he thought possible like not being able to choose which side he wants to lie on in his prison known as the hospital bed. They dictate a specific schedule of side to side rotations and in the smallest act of rebellion he finds the strength to flop back onto his back. It hurts like a mother fucker but its the closest thing he gets to a win these days. At least it feels like one until he learns the hard way that if you lie on the same spots long enough your skin will basically melt away and leave a horrid, raw spot. His great uprising is felled by bed sores like he is a fucking 90 year old in a nursing home.

He thinks he manages to hide his misery and discontent from the team most of the time. Puts any and all energy he has into faking smiles to accompany their unending excitement about his alleged progress. He supposes he can see it from their side, that compared to death any improvement is something to be celebrated but he doesn't have that reference point. All he knows is he was whole and healthy in the streets of Manila and now he's not. He was a Tier One Operator and now he's not.

His voice still hasn't recovered from the ventilator so it has a weird hoarseness to it that actually helps hide the hints of sarcasm and bitterness that creeps in from time to time. Most of the time that happens when people ask how he is feeling because it's the stupidest question in the world and he resolves to never ask it to another living soul in the world. Equally as detested is the "rate your pain" query he gets too many times a day. It doesn't really matter, he refuses to press the damn drug button even when it gets really bad and he would rather lie awake all night in a cold sweat than give in. He stubbornly ignores the lectures he gets from all sides about how unnecessary pain will inhibit his recovery. He doesn't care. He wants off the drugs as fast as possible so that he can at least get his mental faculties back under control. What does recovery even mean in this case anyways? To him it would mean recover what was lost, all of it, and as far as he can tell that isn't going to ever happen so that word has no place in this scenario.

Mostly he just sleeps. He gets really good at pretending to be tired even when he isn't just to have an excuse to shut the world away and not have to feel for a few minutes. He's tired of being the miracle patient. Tired of faking a smile, faking gratitude, faking everything. More and more often he just pretends to be asleep when visitors come because it's far easier than pretending to be someone he doesn't feel much like anymore.

There is actually a fair amount of progress, but he finds very little joy in it. He gets to leave the ICU and gets a new room with a window. Soon after they haul him out of bed and let him slump in a chair for a few minutes. And that "success" is closely followed by the start of physio sessions which for now mostly means they come and help him stretch some aching muscles without even leaving his bed.

But for each step forward there is always an accompanying harsh reality. Like the realization at a whole new level of just how weak he is, the frustration of being tethered to an oxygen tank like a pack a day smoker with chronic emphysema, and the sight of his pale, gaunt reflection he catches sight of in a reflective surface and barely recognizes. .

Clay ashamedly finds himself half assing it through physio. There are very few things he has mailed it in on in his life but this sucks so badly and he's fairly certain it's not going to make any difference anyways. And because dear God it hurts. He never thought anything could hurt as much as a combination of burned skin and damaged nerves, shriveled muscles and barely healed bones all trying and failing to support his body weight. And besides can you really call it physio when you spend most of the hour sitting on a cushy mat attempting to wiggle your toes or flex a muscle you don't actually have anymore.

Round and round he goes, deeper and deeper into a hole and he knows he is doing an increasingly shitty job of hiding his despair anymore. He long ago stopped pretending as well as he used to and the guys have started to notice even if they don't know how to help. His nurses and doctors obviously have too because there have been several surprise visits by members of the psychiatric staff and one very awkward encounter with the Chaplin over the last week. He tries to turn his "A" game back on for them because he is sure words like depression and PTSD are being thrown around behind his back and he doesn't want another assessment in his jacket that would further ruin any future he has in the military.

Unexpectedly its Brett Swan who stops beating around the bush and finally calls him on it.

He is the only one who decides there's been enough kid gloves to go around and to realize that that unending sympathy and empathy might not be what Clay actually needs.

The guys get spun up after being back on rotation for a few weeks and it churns up all the antsyiness and all the all the anxiety about his future and makes Clay even more of an asshole to be around than usual. He is going stir crazy in his room and would give anything to be elsewhere, specifically Eritrea. The destination that Brock "accidentally" let slip when they came to say their goodbyes on their way to base. Clay loses his temper over something stupid and yells at a nurse and then spends a while hating himself for it. He goes back to old faithful and pretends to sleep when Naima comes to visit with some homemade soup.

Brett shows up after lunch knowing the guys are out of town and insists on accompanying him to physio where he gets a first row seat to watching Spenser fail miserably or miserably fail, or maybe both all at once. Clay refuses to look at him or acknowledge his presence, just lets the physio and nurse muscle him back into his chair and wheel him back to the room in a tense silence.

When they get back to the room, Swanny asks the nurse to leave Clay in the chair rather than transfer him back to the bed. Brett ignores his confused look and just bustles around him, grabbing a blanket and stuffing it in his lap along with his portable oxygen tank.

They stroll down the hallway and then to Clay's surprise Brett steers him towards the front doors and out into the parking lot.

"Swanny, where are we going?"

His question gets thoroughly ignored, he tries one more time but Brett appears to be a man on a mission and unwilling to share any critical details.

When the hospital is a couple blocks in the rear view Clay can't resist trying one more time. "You know I'm probably considered AWOL right now."

His attempt at a joke gets ignored as well and so Clay finally shuts up and tries to enjoy the ride because if there is anything he has learned recently it's the meaning of the expression save your breath.

It's not that he doesn't appreciate a little fresh air or a very lovely deviation from the four despicable walls and one window with no view that normally surround him, it's just that he is fading fast and hurting hard. Physio leaves him drained and more than willing to actually take his drugs and pass out for a few hours.

Finally they stop in a dingy parking lot in front of an old Brick building.

"You see that?" Swanny finally speaks.

"Yeah"

"That's the VA I spend a lot of time at. Just inside those doors is where you go stand in a 30 person deep line and wait an hour or more to even check in for the day. Then you go to another waiting room and if you are lucky you might get seen by your Doctor. Doesn't always happen though. If you do manage to get in for an appointment you get about 10 minutes of their time every 6 months, they make a few notes, prescribe a few more pills, and then boot you out to go stand in the next line and get your happy drugs. Medicate and Isolate. That's the name of the game here…. How long did your doctor come by to chat for again this morning? And the day before that?"

Clay ignores the rhetorical question. Quickly catching on to where this is going.

Brett is undeterred by the lack of response. "Every time I come here there are at least 4 or 5 guys sitting outside begging for money. Asking for a little help because their country won't take care of them. They served their country and this is where it got them." He waves a hand encompassing the depressing picture he just painted.

Clay looks past Brett and sure enough he can see a couple of guys hanging out in the parking lot looking like they truly don't have anywhere else to go. It hurts to see and on a deeper patriotic level its a failure as a nation to be sure, but there isn't anything he can do about it today. He can't even help himself. He can't even handle his own pain, can't even solve his own problems, doesn't have time for someone else's.

"Take me back Swanny. Now"

It's a silent ride back.

When they finally reach his room his rogue chauffeur parks the chair near the bed. Swanny sticks the brakes on and goes to leave but then stops and rounds back towards Clay.

"Look I get it. When I left the teams it sucked. Somedays, I couldn't find a reason to get out of bed thinking of them out there dropping the hammer without me. It's tough."

"At least you got to leave on your own terms" Clay isn't ready to let that be any sort of comparison to his situation.

"Only one acting like you are leaving is you. Doctors haven't ruled out clearing you to operate.

Navy hasn't discharged you, they are still investing in you. Doctors, Nurses, Physios, you name it you have the best of it. They haven't given up on you like they have those guys out there." He sweeps an arm in the general direction of the window and what lies beyond it.

"What's more your teammates haven't given up on you. They still care. They are still here. You still have people in your corner. THEY are still fighting."

He pauses for a second and stares Clay down. His face takes on a new intensity that Clay has only heard about from the guys who ran with him. It's easy to see the strong, proud operator that used to kick down doors and take names.

"Pull your head out of your ass and start fighting for them if you won't do it for yourself."

Clay has reached the end of his limit. Both mentally and physically. And even if a part of him knows there is something to what Swanny is saying he can't hear it right now. Instead he scrapes up all the air he can manage to yell "Get the hell out!"

Brett does.

He uses the last of his reserves to roll his chair the few inches needed to be able to grab the call button with trembling fingers.

He is beyond grateful when a nurse shows up and assists in transferring him back to the bed. She fusses and chides him for overdoing it and for once it doesn't feel so bad. He settles gratefully into the bed and doesn't even protest when she decides the oxygen mask is necessary for a few minutes and insists on pressing the morphine pump without asking him.

There is nothing fake about his fatigue today and he is passed out within seconds.

Clay wakes up a few hours later to find his room has been invaded and redecorated while he was insensate. Someone, presumably Swanny, took the Bravo flag from his bedroom and hung it on the opposite wall so it's the first thing he sees when he wakes up. There is a small post it note stuck on it but he can't read it from his position and has to wait impatiently until the next nurse comes by for rounds. It's his favorite one, the one who rarely makes small talk or expects much from him and true to form she just pulls the note off the wall and hands it to him without any comment.

"_Flag stays put - time to start fighting"_

The Bravo flag is a representation of all that he worked for his entire life. Its his family, his brothers and speaks to of all the sacrifices they make for their country. Its a constant call to be better, to do better and he knows he can.

Its long past time to stop wallowing and start fighting.

And he does.

He fights harder than he has ever fought. Completely focused on his mission. On winning his uphill battle and getting back to the thing that matters most in his life. With that new mission, a spark that's been missing rekindles itself, and he starts to feel a bit more like himself.

And things get slightly better. PT becomes a challenge rather than a torture session. Even though it is still absolutely horrendous. He tries to focus on daily achievements and major milestones even if they are stupid little ones like being able to point his toes or hold a utensil without spilling.

He is also determined to win the battle over his stomach. It's one of his last few organs that still won't get with the program. He wants this feeding tube out even if he has to force down 50 disgusting protein shakes and then revisit 49 of them again a few hours later. They keep telling him food will taste good again at some point and he dreams of the day he is ready to eat a cheeseburger or down a beer with the guys even if that feels like an impossible dream.

Clay start to appreciate how important it is to keep his overactive mind that is trapped in an under active body busy so it doesn't run amok on him again. Now that he isn't pretending to sleep most of the day his visitors are much more engaging and he starts to value just how hard they work to keep his spirits up.

Brock brings Cerb and the dog never hesitates to jump up on the bed or a cuddle and an ear scratch and always seems to know exactly which sore spots to avoid. At the end of every visit Bravo 5 always leaves a new book or two for Clay to slowly make his way through.

Trent and him have a chess saga going. Clay doesn't always make it all the way through the game in one sitting but he gives it his best shot and eventually they start to finish a whole game or even two. The team gets involved and starts placing bets on the outcome and it adds a whole new element even if they have to watch because Sonny sometimes tries to cheat and rearrange the board when no one is looking.

Jason brings him tactical briefings and wants his analysis and a report and tactical options. At first it is hard, he struggles with the idea of planning something for other people to go execute. But after one particularly intriguing puzzle keeps him up all night and re-engages a part of his brain he thought might be long lost, he has to admit it's worth the small price.

Ray brings the kids to visit and it's hard to feel surly or gloomy when their innocent naivety brightens up the room. Naima also stops by on her own sometimes and brings fresh food that smells good at least and tempts him to try it more so than the hospital crap.

Sonny is just himself, coming as he is armed only with exaggerated stories from the bar that Clay is pretty sure he has taken some creative license with the try to make them more entertaining. At least he hopes he has. Because if they aren't then the man sounds like he is on quite a bender and whatever he had going on with the mystery girl must be long gone.

As Clay pays more and more attention to the world around him he starts to notice that it still kind of feels like the team is keeping something from him. There are just a few weird glances they share, a few weird topic changes in conversation as if they are afraid it will veer in a certain unwanted direction. He just can't quite figure out what direction that is exactly. All he can tell is that there is something in the story of them being pulled out of the deployment and surrounding his miraculous non death that they are all purposefully glossing over.

He starts trying to work on certain team members, trying to surreptitiously pump for information, and gets nowhere. They present a unified front, clearly having a plan in place and being ready to deflect and defer. The investigation is his new hobby and keeps him sane. He spends his days strategizing and testing out new theories and new ways to try to trick people into revealing new tidbits of information.

Ironically his big break in the case comes from Brett again. When the team gets spun up again the man shows back up and parks himself back in the armchair as if nothing happened. He continues to visits periodically and shoots the shit. Clay has long since forgiven him for that encounter. If anything he now is far enough removed from that depressive fog that he probably owes the man a massive thank you at some point. There is something to be said for a lack of filter and some tough love.

Its that same lack of filter that also spills the beans. They are heading back from physio and Swanny has again kidnapped Clay for a small extra curricular joy ride. As they walk through the hall Brett asks "Who was that hottie that was here all the time. I used to see her out in the hallway a lot or sometimes in the waiting room?"

"Who?"

"You know, pretty young thing, brunette, often had her nose in a book"

For the first time in a week, Clay's stomach churns and he worries about losing his lunch.

There is only one person he can think of that fits that description. But he doesn't know what to do with that info. Doesn't know what it means. Why was she hanging around the hospital? Who even told her he was here, the team certainly wouldn't have. That much he is certain of.

He goes back and looks at his phone. There are plenty of well wishes from others, but none from her.

She doesnt come visit

She doesn't call or text.

He can't help himself from splitting his focus as he stumbles through the hallway with his walker. Wondering if she is still lurking around.

He manages to get out of Naima that she still keeps in contact with her. Still is getting updates on his recovery. He doesn't know what to make of that either.

Even once he goes home she doesn't call or visit.

The team does though. They continue hovering and taking care of him which he unfortunately still needs. Maybe more so now that he actually has to fend for himself for everything.

Sonny in particular practically lives at his place with Brett. He strings a hammock and spends so much time there that Clay starts to wonder what exactly he is avoiding. Almost wants to kick him out and tell him to go face whatever it is.

Instead one night he gets Sonny drunk on the couch. It isn't hard and doesn't take much convincing at all just the guilt trip that he is drinking for two, since Clay still can't. Sonny rises to the challenge and then when he is trashed Clay finally gets the whole story out of him about Stella and the team and his near death.

Damn he is an idiot.

He went and validated all her fears by almost getting killed, and then because he neglected to change his paperwork she got a front row seat to what she was trying to avoid.

He isn't really sure why he never changed it. It wasn't that he forgot per say. There might have been some part of him that still hoped they were going to turn things around. And another part of him that wasn't sure who to put if not her. His dad… hard pass.

So instead of facing it, he avoided. And look where that got him. And more importantly where that got her.

He owes her an apology if nothing else. She purposely tried to escape this life and he inadvertently chained her to it.

He wants to reach out but doesn't know how to without making the situation worse. Can't figure out how to start a conversation without any strings attached or making her feel more obligation than he already did.

Picks up his phone and dials her number on auto pilot. And then hangs up before the first ring

Does it a couple times. Always chickening out just before it connects.

Finally he settles for a text message. Types it up and then lets it sit in his draft folder for the better part of a week before he finally works up the courage to send it.

Its only after he spends a long but successful day at PT and then caps off the evening with team barbeque at Jason's where he spends too much time laughing and not enough time breathing and ends up dizzy and lightheaded. Undeterred he makes the potentially stupid decision to drink the light beer Lisa sneaks him under the table. He probably shouldn't have drank it, but it was worth it to feel normal again for the first time in 2 months. He can't even find it in himself to regret it when it hits him hard later and Sonny has to muscle his bambi like frame back through the narrow hallways of his apartment complex because the coordination and muscle power to use his walker is well beyond him currently. They hit a few walls and Bravo 3 mutters and complains under his breath as Clay's uncooperative legs threaten to give out and take them both down at several dicey moments. Sonny maligns Davis and impugns Clay's sensibilities, muttering about idiot soontobe cakeaters and brain damaged lightweights, but in the end he takes great care to lower Clay onto his bed gently and Spenser's hears the man's large frame park outside in his living room and settle in onto his hammock for the night, just in case. Clay pulls out his phone and confirms proof of life to several anxious texters wanting to make sure he got home alright and survived his big night. He hovers over the draft folder and then is a little too tired and a lot too buzzed to think of any objections so he pulls up his message to Stella and presses send without any hesitation. He rolls over and falls asleep with a smile on his face completely satisfied with the best day he can remember in a long time.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_Our boy is back. And with a vengeance because as per usual the word count got a bit away from me. _

_I tried to hit some of the same undertones the show did in terms of Clay struggling with his prognosis and recovery and not always being the model patient. And I loved (but also painfully hated) what the show did by introducing Swanny and using him to tell such an important story so I wanted to make sure he still has a part to play in this one even though its veered away from cannon. _


	7. Chapter 7

Stella's phone rings exactly two sips into her second Moscow mule while she is trying, key word _trying_, to enjoy her conversation with Billy. Or was it Bobby?

She glances idly at it, doesn't recognize the number and assumes its a telemarketer or the bank calling with some offer she won't care about, and swipes down to silence it.

It's a nice feeling to no longer flinch every time the phone rings, to not have to keep a mental tally of deployments and spin ups and constantly worry that this could be the call.

The fact that she actually does still know that they are on deployment right now is beside the point.

She tells herself that this piece of mind is worth it. Reminds herself of it daily after guy after guy comes up and uses cheesy line after cheesy line and she can't help but think she will never again meet someone who could actually manage to achieve what Clay somehow did with the most unoriginal pick up line of them all. I mean seriously how she ended up going out with someone who man-splained feminism to her is still completely beyond her.

She ruthlessly ignores the part of her that wants to turn back and find him there instead of her pity blind date back arranged by a coworker. She longs to see that shit eating grin and barely tolerable bravado that covers up something of substance deeper down.

The phone rings again and she rolls her eyes at Brody, Bentley…. And gives _him_ the universal sign to wait one minute while she answers the phone.

"You know calling to sell me something on a Friday night is practically criminal harassment"

_"Ms. Baxter?"_

"Yes, and I'm not interested in whatever it is so thanks, but no thanks. Have a good night"

_"Ms Baxter."_

The voice is more urgent this time, and there is something about it that's familiar that stops her from pressing the end call button. She knows that voice, she just can't place from where.

_"Stella, this is Eric Blackburn"_

Oh. That's where she knows it from.

She's actually only spoken to the Bravo team's commander once, briefly, and she hadn't paid all that much attention. He met her at the base gates the time Clay got hurt on one of his first missions with the team. She remembers Clay calling to say he was injured but that he was fine, if you could call falling into a sinkhole or something like that in some foreign country he couldn't actually specify, _fine_. If you could call a sprained knee, and bruised ribs and an overnight stay in the hospital _fine_. So, yes, she had probably been a little frantic and a little hysterical and had been fighting to try to get it under control before she met Clay's boss. Except he hadn't been what she expected, no typical overdone regressive masculinity she would expect from a military leader. He hasn't shied away from the distraught female and all the feelings and tears. Instead he had allayed her fears, explained as much as he could and treated her with kindness and respect.

But if he is calling her now...

Clay.

Her stomach twists and the ginger beer churns. Does this mean Clay got hurt again? And if so why is he calling her about it?

_"Stella?"_

Her mouth is dry, mind racing a hundred miles in every direction, but she manages "I'm here."

She pushes off the bar stool without a word to whatever his name is and heads outside to be able to hear better.

_"Ms Baxter, it's my duty to inform you that Petty Officer Clay Spencer was injured on deployment. His condition is serious enough that he is being returned to the states for further treatment."_

"What...how... why are you calling me?"

She didn't mean for that to be the first question that actually escaped.

"Sorry I'm just confused. Is he okay?"

Eric sighs and his voice softens and loses some of the formality.

_"Look Stella, I'm not going to lie, it's not good. And this call is a surprise for both of us. But here we are. I will get you the information about the particulars when I have them and what you do from there is up to you."_

Up to her.

What does that even mean?

Is she supposed to drop everything and go visit with her ex. Have a nice little chit chat, bring him a smoothie like last time. There is no way Clay actually wants her there, they have barely spoken in the last few months and the last time he saw her he'd made it clear he'd moved on and was happy with where life had taken him. Said she did him a favour. She can't see him wanting to reach out and muddy the waters.

Then something glaringly obvious that she probably should have caught sooner finally registers amidst all the confusion.

Clay isn't making this call, Blackburn is.

And if Blackburn has to make the call…. Fuck. .

Suddenly "not good" seems a whole lot worse.

She stops picturing clay with a busted up leg or a bruised torso and is instantly taken back to all the nightmares that used to haunt her when they were together. Limbs missing, brain damaged, torn to shreds by bullets, captured and tortured and filmed for TV, her brain can come up with many vividly horrible possibilities.

"How bad is it?"

He hesitates before answering and Stella may have forgotten how to breathe.

_"There was an explosion…_"

She doesn't process much after that and when she finally gets to see him it becomes abundantly clear that all the petty little things like relationship status and potential awkwardness won't matter for a while. If ever.

It's exactly everything she feared and worse. And she wants to back away and leave it for someone else to deal with. Dammit she does.

Except Clay's been abandoned by everyone his whole life. His parents by choice, his grandparents by death, Brian, Adam for the same reason, and then her One of the things that has haunted her about her decision is that she knew all that and she still went and added to the list.

Now, when he really needs someone, he has no one. Bravo, his brothers and only self proclaimed family aren't here. Not by choice she is sure, but obviously circumstances have dictated it and it leaves Clay just as alone as ever.

Hard as this is, she won't be able to live with herself if she leaves now too.

So she forces herself to sit with his burnt, broken, basically completely mechanized body even though it hurts to even look at him.

On one hand she really wonders what the hell happened. How exactly he got so hurt. She vividly remembers Naima explaining the whole dirt, dirt, gucci concept. Afghanistan was the first dirt. She knows he went to Mexico for the second deployment so shouldn't this have been the cushy one? Couldn't he even be safe on a gucci deployment?

On the other hand, ignorance is probably actually better for her sanity. She probably doesn't want to know the ins and outs of how or why he got blown up. The problem is she's just never been good at playing dumb and can't stop her brain from connecting the dots when the news channel in the cafeteria flashes to scenes of a bombing in the Philippines that as far as she can tell occurred about 8 hours before Blackburn's call came in.

Then things go downhill, and there is less time to care about the details. The doctors tell her he's taken a turn, they start using words like palliative care and talking about end of life expectations and she feels as broken as he looks.

Miraculously though the team gets there in time. There must have been a lot of strings pulled to make it happen but she is glad for Clay that it did. Even if it leaves her in an awkward position.

Stella is well aware she has no right to be there and even more aware than they don't want her there. There were definitely sides taken in this "divorce" and she is on the outside looking in.

It puts her in this weird limbo because now Clay has his family with him and her excuse for staying is gone. So by all rights she should leave. She just can't. She is the weird stalker that just keeps coming back, just keeps sitting in the waiting room or pacing the hallways because she wants to be here when it happens even if she can't actually be there.

It's like a book she can't put down. She has to know the ending. She's always had trouble getting too heavily invested, even in fictional characters and fantasy worlds, and has trouble letting go when the story ends. As a kid she used to cry at the end of a book series, devastated that there wouldn't be one more novel to come. For all intensive purposes her series with Clay ended awhile ago but now it's apparent that she is still too invested in his life, too invested in him, to walk away and move on to the next one.

Apparently Clay feels the same because he refuses to move on to the next chapter too.

Hours stretch into days and she maintains the status quo. The guys don't ask her why she is there, but her boss sure does. After a couple of "sick" days he finally asks if everything is alright and she realizes there really is no way to explain what she is doing without sounding pathologically crazy. Waiting around in a hospital lobby for your ex to die just doesn't sound like stability or being well adjusted on any level so her only option is to go back to work, physically at least. Her mind stays parked in that lobby chair and she makes it through the day like a zombie and then drives on autopilot back into town every night to actually sit in that chair for a few more hours. Every day she tells herself she won't and yet every day she finds herself back in the car heading the opposite direction of her apartment.

After Clay wakes up she tries to cut the cord and go back to real life. She really, really tries.

The smart thing to do would be to call it a day and walk away. Accept the miraculous recovery and celebrate it from a far. Acknowledge the fragile peace that she brokered with Bravo and call it a win. Take it and move on. Close the book. Walk away.

Except this entire experience has brought another harsh reality to life and Stella has come to realize that she was always way too entangled in this life and was never actually as free of it as she thought. Untangling may never actually be possible no matter what her brain told her she wanted or what the smart move was. Her heart has other ideas.

Now that he is on the mend there is even less reason to hang around the hospital unless its to see him and that seems like a bad idea. More hurtful. More confusing. And Clay certainly doesn't need that right now.

So she tries to go back to normal life and pretend she is the same person from before that call. From time to time she calls the hospital to get an update. The first time she does it she doesn't actually expect to get any information. She fully expects and almost kind of hopes to get stonewalled because of privacy concerns forcing her to cut the cord. Instead she learns that she is actually on file as his next of kin and they give her the information without any questions asked. Stella isn't quite sure what to make of that new fun fact.

She does eventually stop calling after a few weeks because it feels too intrusive once he is awake and recovering and she doesn't want to invade his privacy even if she apparently has the right to do so. But also because there's this one nurse who likes to drop judgy hints about visiting hours and how she can come visit anytime she likes.

If only it were that fucking simple.

Instead she turns to Naima, eternally grateful that the woman somehow manages to keep an open mind and not take sides even though Stella knows full well she didn't support her decision. She resists the urge to text her every hour, trying not to inundate her with messages and overwear her welcome so to speak. Instead she settles for the updates when they come for whatever milestones or recovery tidbits Naima deems worthy to share.

Its bittersweet when she learns that he finally gets to go home. An exciting day to be sure, she just kind of wishes there was something there waiting for him besides an empty apartment.

She smiles when she hears that he did well at his first outpatient rehab session and then has to chuckle at the follow up text revealing the guys stole Clay's walker while he was there and got it tricked out. Naima even sends a picture of the newly painted contraption. Matte black finish, leather hand grips and fully customized with Bravo's logo impeccably spray painted on the seat, it's the most badass walker around to be sure.

It's a major relief when she hears that he is finally free of the cursed oxygen tank he's been reliant on to this point. The doctors are apparently still making him sleep with it on at night

to help rest his recovering lungs but it's comforting to know he can make it through the day without it now.

When her phone chimes a few days later she eagerly picks it up to see Naima's next update and then almost drops it in surprise when its actually from him.

_\- Sorry for putting you in that position. It was never my intent. -_

Shit.

What the hell does she say to that.

She stares at it for a while. Opens and closes her phone a million times. Reads the message in a hundred different tones with all sorts of different inflections and tries really hard to read between the lines that aren't even there because it literally only 12 words.

In the end there is no avoiding it though, Clay masterfully put the ball in her court. Made it her move. Checkmate. Now any more she makes will take it in a direction with possible consequences and she has to decide which direction that is.

Finally she settles on a response

_\- Glad you are on the mend. Take care of yourself. - _

There. Close ended. No follow up required.

Door closed

She actually wants to ask a million questions. Yearns to start a conversation and not let it die.

Wants to open all the doors, all of them, and keep them wide open so that she can run back through.

She also wants what's best for Clay, that hasn't changed.

Stella meant every word when she told him he deserves someone who will embrace his life. Someone that's better than her.

So it's not fair to him to send any sort of mixed messages or open any doors that she's not sure she can actually walk through when push comes to shove.

That should be it. Closure. Resolution. The end of the book.

Stella tells herself it is and manages to believe it for a few days until she hears through the grapevine that he is still having trouble eating. That Clay is struggling to gain weight and strength back like he should because of a lack of appetite. Unbeknownst to her, she somehow ends up at the grocery store picking up all his favorite foods that end up in a basket outside his door.

Clay actually would have been impressed by her stealth mission to drop it off without being seen or encountering anyone. She is counting heavily on the generosity and tight knit world of the teams to hide her actions. No one has to know it was her who dropped it off. It could have been any number of people coming out of the woodwork to help out as they do in these kinds of situations.

That's the end of it though.

At least it is until Naima mentions over coffee that he has started a new phase of more intense physio and is really feeling the aches and pains of it. Then she can't help herself and stops at the pharmacy and buys the brand of arnica cream he always scoffed at yet also subtly hinted for her to rub on his bruises or sore muscles. She gets some Voltaren and A535 as well just so it isn't too obvious and then throws in a fuzzy blanket and a hot water bottle for a few other creature comforts she knows he will roll his eyes at but secretly enjoy.

When she drops off the third basket, some language text books and a grow your own garden kit, on the theory that he's got to be going stir crazy by now, she begins to worry he will figure it out. That it might be a bit too transparent and that people within the teams might start to talk and word will get back to him that none of them had anything to do with it.

Stella also begins to equally worry about her own mental health. Perhaps even more so than the fear of discovery.

The words obsessed and lack of boundaries start to seem applicable here. And she begins to wonder if she might need a 12 step program. Although good luck explaining this addiction to the rest of the world. Compulsive shopping? Disordered Gift Giving? Its possible those might be glossing over the true issues here.

She tries to convince herself that she is just trying to make up for the hurt she caused in Mexico. Nothing more. Unfortunately, even she doesn't really believe that explanation any more.

Because if she's honest she would probably have to admit she made a mistake back then and that a part of her, a part she is scared to measure just how big, would maybe do it differently if she could.

It's a terrifying admittance because there is still also that other part. The part that won last time based on that awful black bruise right over his heart and the earth shattering revelation with Echo Team about just how easy it was for 6 good men, all highly trained and the best at what they do, to be wiped out in one fell swoop. And by extension just how easy it would have been for her to be on the other end of all that Casserole slinging. Now that part has even more ammunition having actually received the devastating call from Commander Blackburn and seen all her fears come to life. That part also has lived through and forever been traumatized by that horrific moment where she and Sonny were absolutely certain Clay was dying right in front of their eyes and there was nothing they could do about it.

She tells herself that this life isn't for her. That she is just trying to help him along in his recovery, just trying to make amends and then she will be gone. Resolves to get back in her lane and stay on track and stop being a tourist into his life that is no longer hers.

So Stella desperately tries to on getting back into her routine and on sticking to it with no unscheduled deviations. Come Monday morning she concentrates on getting up, getting ready for work and then heads to her new regular coffee shop. She tips the barista and grabs her bag and is all set to head to work to try and get some grading done before her first class.

She comes out of the shop, coffee and scones in hand, and comes face to face with Ray Perry.

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_A little divergence into Stella's world for a chapter.__Please bear with me, we will return to regularly scheduled Clay whump and team centric hurt/comfort shortly._


	8. Chapter 8

The days spent in the hospital while Clay was unconscious were painstakingly slow. Even once he woke up every second continued to crawl by at a snail's pace with all of his teammates caught up in a timeless void unique to the isolated world within the building's four walls. When they entered inside all that mattered was Clay's O2 level, whether he was running a fever, how much pain he was in for the day, what the doctor had to say on their most recent set of rounds. And yet outside, the rest of their lives continued on with or without their participation. Bravo team emerged periodically for the bare essentials, to eat, sleep, shower, spend time with family, go to mass, and then repeat all over again. Anything beyond that gets passed off to wait until "later" or falls by the wayside as just another casualty to this life they chose.

So when Clay stabilizes and then turns the corner and eventually even gets to go home, they can all exhale a little and start to resume their usual activities that have been sitting on the backburner for the better part of a month.

Life returns to normal with a vengeance and seemingly jumps to warp speed in an effort to catch up on all that's been missed.

They spin up. His kids go to school and to activities and he squeezes in a date or two with Naima. Add in a belated baptism, a couple birthday parties, one exhausting field trip with 30 or so six year olds running everywhere, the odd appointment and a few playdates and Ray frequently reaches Sunday and wonders where the first six days of the week went. Even Clay's weeks are surprisingly full between outpatient rehab, physio appointments, occupational therapy, an endless stream of visitors and well wishers and his mandated counselor appointments that he very begrudgingly goes to.

Before long they are making the absurd reference to it's being 3 months since his injury, and then in the blink of an eye it's actually 4 months to the day since that night. Those milestones are hard to believe for all involved because if you ask them it could have happened last week.

The team goes out on several successful missions in that timeframe and slowly works their way back into the brass' good graces. They are all acutely aware of how close they came to losing it all and no one wants a repeat occurrence. Even Jason is on his best behaviour and toes the line, at least as much as he is capable of doing.

While things go well, it doesn't come easy for anyone because even though they are back, Clay isn't. There is very much that ever present sense of missing a vital limb that throws them off kilter. It takes work for the team to find some semblance of an equilibrium again as much as they can without him but they have to try. They continue to hope for the best and have all the faith in the world in Clay, there just are no guarantees being given either way.

Ray does the best he can to help the team adjust to that uncertainty. To make sure each member is coping as well as they can. It's been a long couple months and the stress has affected each person in a different way. Each Bravo member has their own unique scars they carry from the experience even if Clay's are the only visible ones. It's a fact that he has to remind Jason of frequently when things don't run quite right. Like when Sonny perpetually gives the fill in guy the cold shoulder and purposefully causes tension or when Trent slows them down because he wants to triple check a bandage on a minor wound that Brock sustained, just to be sure.

Contrary to the Brass' opinion, the best therapy there is for the team is spending time with Clay as much as they can. They benefit from reminding themselves that he is still alive and is on the mend and the reminder for everyone, including Clay, that he is still part of the team. To that effect the guys do an impressive job of hovering whenever they are stateside. They smother him so badly that after one evening where Trent admonishes Clay a few times for not sitting and standing the way his physio prescribed, Jason gets on him about overdoing his exercises in general and then Brock tries to cut Clay's food for him, Clay not so tactfully, and only half jokingly asks them when they will be getting spun up again.

For Ray, unfortunately those healing moments spent with Clay have had to play second fiddle to real life lately and it's been awhile since Clay's free time and his free time lined up. First the team went out on a couple longer spin ups in a row, then he had to take Naima and the kids down to Virginia Beach for her cousin's wedding and they choose to stay a few extra days to enjoy the sun and the sand on a well deserved family vacation that miraculously didn't get interrupted by a call. When they finally get back Ray does get a call, it's just for a very different kind of mission than he is expecting. He gets "voluntold" to go to a weeklong leadership training conference in Norfolk that Blackburn needed someone from their team to go to for optics and probably smartly decided that it was in no one's best interest to send Jason. So Bravo 2 takes one for the team and bites the bullet sitting through multiple days of tedious speakers and team building exercises that some cake eater somewhere probably got paid a lot of money to design and somehow thinks it will actually benefit the team dynamics in the field. Right, because learning how to do human knots and trust falls definitely is clearly on the same level as the deep bond created by covering your brother's six and being willing to lay down your own life to ensure they at least make it home at the end of the day even if you don't. These guys really will never get it.

Regardless, he survives it, and checks the boxes that need to be checked and no one has to know that he spends most of the time amusing himself by imagining the type of snarky and politically incorrect comments Jason would be making if he were here.

Unfortunately all that means is he and Clay have been reduced to text message check ins and the occasional phone call for a couple weeks now. A situation Ray finds increasingly frustrating as it makes it hard to get an accurate picture of what is going on with the kid. He knows from Clay's rough patch in the hospital that Bravo 6 patently does not like to show weakness to his team or admit if he is struggling with something and he can't help but wonder if a rosier picture is being painted for his benefit during those conversations. So instead he goes straight to a different source and gleans as much information as he can from Naima. These days it seems like Naima sees Clay more than he does as she is part of the rotation of volunteers who drives him to some of his appointments when the guys can't. She also has an impressive God given gift of being able to get people to open up to her and gently calling them on their bullshit when she needs to. His amazing wife doesn't disappoint and feeds him bits and pieces of news when she can. Some of it is the same reports he gets from Clay, the typical medical milestones like him graduating from a walker to a cane and then even more exciting news that he's been able to ditch the oxygen tank permanently. But later she shares how Clay was ecstatic when his physio cleared him to start doing some modified weight training and how he tried to overdo it right off the bat and had to take a few days off. And she relates Clay's recent success at taking Cerb for a walk around the block in the same proud mama voice she uses to share RJ or Jamelelah's accomplishments.

When Ray finally gets back he is anxious to see Spencer for himself. To reassure himself that all reports are accurate and nothing has been sugar coated for his benefit. On his first day of freedom he heads over to Clay's place to pick him up for an afternoon at the park with him and Naima watching Jameleehs t-ball game.

He knocks and then lets himself in after a brief pause. Clay's given up on locking the door during the day because of the constant influx of visitors. Likewise they've all gotten in the habit of just entering to save him the need to get up. There is no response when he calls out and a first initial sweep of the apartment comes up worryingly empty. Clay isn't in the living room or kitchen, and the open door to the bedroom shows he isn't there either.

Ray can't help the panic that starts to swell when another call out gets no response. He knows its irrational because Clay is probably just in the bathroom or something. He is self aware enough to recognize the fear surging through him right now is probably a symptom of that fateful moment in the bar after the second bomb went off and he automatically looked around and started counting and only got to 5. It's something they have all been experiencing to some degree, and finding different ways to work through. Losing someone in the field, you grieve, you move on. But for some reason being attacked on their leisure time hit a little differently and lingered longer and they aren't quite there yet.

So for now he has to deal with his heart in his throat, the clamminess of his palms and the way visions of Clay passed out on the floor assault him uninvited as he peers around the corners and continues to call out for the man.

He does eventually find the Bravo 6 on the floor and nearly loses it for a second until he can process the bizarre scene in front of him.

Clay is sitting outside on his patio on a pile of cushions he has haphazardly arranged to try and cushion his legs from the unforgiving cement. He has his headphones on and is bopping along to what is probably some of his truly terrible music while he pulls out some weeds and pats down around a few fledgling plants in a wonky looking planter.

Ray surveys the situation, the hint of a tan on Clays arms, the way his clothes hang a little less baggily on his frame now that he has managed to add a few pounds back on. It's a welcome change from the pasty almost bled out and then spent 2 months in the not really eating bad hospital food look he was previously rocking.

He looks ...dare he say it... Healthy.

If you ignore the few visible scars, the brace on his leg and the slightly awkward way he is sitting you could pretend the past 4 months never happened.

The man in front of him is the vision of domesticity, gardening gloves on, enjoying the early afternoon sun and digging around in one of his planters with a hand held hoe and questionable technique.

Ray clears his throat loudly but gets no response so he picks up a towel hanging on the railing and uses it as a soft projectile to announce his presence.

Clay starts in surprise and then his confused expression turns into a carefree grin when he realizes what happened. He sheds his earphones and loses his tools and gloves and then holds his arm upwards towards Ray for some help getting up from his pillow pile.

Ray clasps it and pulls the man up off the ground, gratified to see that the movement only causes a slight wince and Clay is mostly steady on his feet as he pulls him in for a hug.

He unhooks the cane from the railing and hands it to Spencer before he lets go. "You look good kid, although I think you are taking this vacation thing too seriously. Look at that tan, get your butt back into the gym would ya."

Clay grins bigger at him "gym, tan, laundry ...Isn't that what all the kids are saying" he ignores Ray's groan and continues "well I've modified it a bit... gym, tan… gardening. But the tanning is a must, pasty white isn't a good look on anyone"

"Amen to that brother"...Gardening though? That's a new one for you."

"Yep, the do it yourself kit was a fun surprise, came with some language books too. Swanny didn't catch who dropped them off unfortunately. It's been a fun project though and I'm looking forward to some nice fresh tomatoes and cucumbers. At least that's what I think I planted. Might end up with some turnips or cabbage though with my luck."

When they get to the game Ray has a hard time paying attention. His eyes are of course glued to his little girl when she is up to bat, or the rare time someone hits the ball in her direction. But it's also T-ball, so 95% of the game involves her making ant hills in the dirt and twirling in circles allowing Ray's attention to drift over to his youngest and his youngest team member.

He can't stop smiling as he watches his little guy crawl all over Clay and the picnic blanket they are sprawled out on. Clay for his part is trying to watch the game with an earnest intensity and a hint of wistfulness that the quality of baseball definitely doesn't deserve. It's a painful reminder that there probably weren't a lot of these kind of happy memories in Clay's childhood.

The cute hallmark moment is interrupted by RJ clumsily tripping and his little man's chubby knees coming down hard on that spot on Clay's upper leg that held the worst of the damage. Ray for will never forget the sight of that ugly piece of shrapnel sticking out at a perfect 90 degree angle allowing blood to gurgle out at an alarming rate all around it. Even knowing the wound is closed and mostly healed he and Naima are both up on their feet in an instant apologetically moving to pull RJ off but Clay waves them off with a grimace and easily picks up the little man and sails him above his head and down onto the other side of the picnic blanket a safe distance away from any sensitive spots.

Ray is impressed. It wasn't that long ago Clay couldn't lift his arms above his head never mind an almost 2 year old. The kid has been working hard and clearly it's paying off. It might be the first time he starts to actually believe Bravo 6 will make it all the way back.

He watches as Clay picks up the soapy wand and bubble mix from beside him and creates a stream of bubbles for RJ who totters around and tries to catch them. It's light and carefree and it fills up an empty part he didn't realize still needed to be filled. Ray leans back onto Naima's shoulder and they share a smile and he desperately hopes for more days like this.

The game ends too soon and then they have their hands full shepherding three sleepy kids back to the cars and heading home.

He can't resist a bit of a mother henning and walks Clay up to his apartment to make sure he gets settled alright. Clay bears it with the patience of a saint, probably used to the routine from others and fully aware any protests on his part would have been ignored. It's a slower trip down the hallway with more of a white knuckle grip on his cane on the way back but Ray doesn't mention it and adjusts his pace to match. When they finally get to the door he unlocks it for Clay and holds it open while the man shuffles inside. It gives him plenty of time to look around and catch something he didn't earlier in his panic induced search.

Its bloody clean.

He whistles under his breath.

"What?"

"Want to come over and clean my place if you are this bored?"

Clay laughs, "I'm never _that _bored…. and I can't take the credit here, a cleaners been coming in once a week."

Ray whistles again "La-ti-dah"

Spenser looks sheepish now "Not my idea, someone must have arranged it as part of my outpatient care or something. Wouldn't have thought it was necessary but man its been nice not having to worry about that."

Ray frowns at that explanation. It sounds like a whole lot of thoughtfulness that he wouldn't normally attribute to the military. Sure they will devote every resource in the book to making sure you can operate again because there is something in it for them. But expecting them to think about the practical logistics of what a person as badly laid up as Clay was would need once they are home, that would probably be a fool's errand. No, the necessities of cooking, cleaning, errand running, and being driven around go overlooked in policy and usually all fall to the thankfully willing group of wives and girlfriends who step up big time. He isn't sure who out of that would have been willing to buck up for a cleaning service but makes a mental note to ask Naima what she knows about it.

Clay gingerly settles on the couch and grabs the TV remote flicking through channels to find something to watch.

"You need anything before I go?"

Clay initially shakes his head, and then pauses and looks a little embarrassed "actually yeah, do you mind grabbing the hot water bottle off the dresser for me, save me a trip"

Ray finds the requested item next to a small pharmacy of topical pain creams and epsom salts most of which are still in the box. He heads back out to the living room.

"Here you ….. " his voice trails off quickly when he sees Spencer already fast asleep. He places the hot water bottle on his best guess as to where it's needed and then grabs the fuzzy sherpa blanket he's never seen here before and uses it to cover Clay. He feels just like he is tucking in one of his own, although he manages to resist the urge to give him a kiss on the forehead like he would to them. He would never live it down if Clay woke up to that.

As he leaves the apartment and starts to drive home he feels bolstered by the afternoon on the whole and yet there is also something bugging him about it too. Some nagging concern he can't quite put his finger on. It isn't until he drives by a pharmacy near his house that he is able to more clearly identify the source.

Fuzzy blanket, epsom salts, hot water bottle, Arnica creme, were all those the product of another mystery benefactor too. It's just that those creature comforts don't seem like things Clay would have on hand, or even request to be bought, not wanting to cause a fuss, even though he will happily use them apparently. Clay had mentioned at one point that a few different things had been dropped off from time to time. Is he just being too suspicious now? Seeing connections where there aren't any.

Still the more he thinks about it there are a couple things that don't really add up. The gardening kit, the basket with all his favorite foods in it Clay mentioned earlier, the mystery cleaner and now this pampering kit for lack of a better descriptor.

He knows Spencer is well liked by many of the teams and in this community they take care of their own. But there is something about it, something he can't quite put his finger on. It's almost like the gifts are too well thought out, too personal. They seem to be coming from someone who really knows the kid well. Plus whoever it is didn't make any effort to take credit or actually check in with Clay which is also a little strange.

He doesn't know why it bothers him so much, except there is this idea brewing in the back of his mind that seems to explain all the factors even if it is very far fetched and a huge leap of logic.

But on the off chance he is right….its a lot messier than he expected.

And if that is the case he needs to get to the bottom of it before anything blows up in anyone's face and he has a good idea where to start.

The more that he thinks about it the more convinced he is that Naima might know more about it then she is letting on. He replays their afternoon together including the moments where Clay showed off his newly acquired Turkish language skills that are already very impressive for being just a week old. Naima hadn't seemed as interested or impressed as he would have expected, especially given her ability to actually speak Turkish. She'd only muttered a few flustered phrases and then changed the subject. Likewise when Clay was glowing with pride talking about his baby tomatoes that are starting to spring up, Naima had suddenly become very interested in what RJ was doing at that exact moment.

He knows her better than he knows himself, and more importantly in this case he knows her tells.

When the kids are asleep and they are lounging on the couch watching the evening news he casually brings it up.

"So what's that all about?"

"What's what all about?"

She tries to sound equally casual except her voice does that slightly squeaky thing it does under stress and he is more certain that ever that he's on the right track.

"You know, those mystery care packages Clay's been getting from someone who seems to know an awful lot about what makes him tick?"

Naima isn't built for a life of deception. She wears her heart and her emotions on her sleeve and he can practically see the panicked thoughts racing across her mind as she tries to come up with a plausible explanation and then the exact moment where she realizes the gig is up.

"She's just been pitching in where she can that's all. Wants to keep a healthy distance but also wants to help out. It's no big deal."

Ray begs to differ. This is a big deal.

And he is surprised at Naima. She is fiercely protective of the team and of their life. While she opened her arms wide accepting Stella into it she had been very disappointed when it finally came out that she had left Clay and even more so in how she left clay. In her book, doing the deed there on the tarmac before a mission, crossed a line and put Clay, and by association the rest of the team in danger, something that was completely unforgivable. At least he'd though so.

"And you're Ok with that? You've forgiven her?"

He tries to keep his voice neutral but can't help a little incredulousness from escaping despite his best efforts. Doesn't understand how Naima isn't mad about Stella sticking her nose back into their world and potentially muddying the waters with Clay?

Watching her react he wishes he had tried harder.

Her eyes flash dangerously and when she finally speaks her voice is sharp.

"Don't you dare make this sound simple. I get her….I still am her some nights when you all up and leave on something dangerous and I don't know if you will come back. Don't imply that this was easy on anyone. Yes, she hurt clay. And no it wasn't right how she did it but just cuz one person does the hurting doesn't mean there ain't enough hurt to go around."

Naima pauses to catch her breath, and comes back with a slightly more level tone ….at least to start off with.

"She came to me, before Clay was hurt, regretting her decision and trying to work through it. He forced her hand, did you know that? She never meant for it to happen on the tarmac like that even though there is no denying she was having some doubts. This life ain't easy and it became too much for her and when he pressed she made a poor choice and ran. She is human. And more importantly she is trying to grow from it and be there for him now. And the least you all could do, Raymond Perry, is try to keep an open mind about that."

Well this backfired quickly. Ray Perry is ten years too married not to pick up on how poorly this little chat is going for him. Somehow he ended up as the guilty party.

In the Navy, a sailor never abandons ship unless it's an absolute last resort, but in a marriage when the wife uses your full name ...all bets are off and you do what you have to do to survive.

So he quickly backpedals on that line of questioning and tries something he hopes will be a little more neutral.

"Does Clay know?"

"I don't think so. But he isn't dumb. He will figure it out eventually."

He wants to ask her and then what?

And what about the next time it becomes too much?

Does Stella cut bait and run again? Break his heart twice?

He's just not dumb enough to ask those questions and even if he was and was willing to sleep on the couch for a while, she isn't the one he needs answers from anyways.

He approaches it just like he would any mission. Starts with what he knows and builds from there. He knows where Stella works and a few odd things about her from listening to Clay talk. After a little research that maybe borders on stalking but mostly just takes advantage of the joys of modern technology and oversharing friends and parents, he has what he needs. Ray builds an operational plan complete with contingencies and fallback plans and then when it's all ready to go, he executes.

On Monday morning Ray intercepts Stella at her favorite coffee shop, 45 minutes before her first class starts based on the online course calendar he found. The surprised look on her face is satisfying because he knows he caught her off guard in this setting and by coming to her on her turf.

But then all the colour drains from her face and her eyes well up with tears and a few seconds too late he realizes another possible reason for his impromptu visit.

Shit.

"Clay's fine, that's not why I'm here."

He hurries to try to get ahead of the panic. They have all had enough of that recently to last them for a while. Stella included.

He leads her to a vacant table inside and pretends he doesn't see her swipe hurriedly at her eyes as they walk. They sit down but she ignores him in favour of digging through her purse for her phone.

"Let me just text my colleague and get them to cover the start of my class"

"This shouldn't take long"

Still she sends the text anyway before setting the phone down and when she finally looks up at him she seems both curious and on edge. As if she is preparing for battle and isn't sure whether she wants to wait for him to make the first move or just go straight on the offensive. He has always liked that about her. He was immediately struck by her independence and intelligence and desire to think for herself at all times in all their previous interactions. Ray hopes to raise his little girl to have that kind of confidence and fire. The unfortunate reality is that an independent streak also makes this kind of life hard. The only way most of the wives get by is by leaning on each other and drawing strength and support from others who are in the same boat. From what Naima said, Stella wasn't always ready to accept that kind of help or support and more often than not tried to go it alone.

"What is your angle here?" She raises a confused eyebrow at that and he hurries to try to clarify.

"Are you trying to get back together with him?"

He pulls out the _Beginners Guide to Urdu_ book that he pilfered off Clay's dresser last time he was there.

She hesitates for a second before apparently deciding there is no point in trying to hide anything at this point.

"I love him. That has never changed and I know I gave up any rights to be a part of his life. But it's killing me to watch from afar while he struggles so I'm just trying to help a little bit where I can."

He waits her out, holding his gaze squarely on Stella, not caring if it makes her uncomfortable.

That wasn't the question he asked.

The guys often complain about his piercing stare. The feeling they get that he can see right through them. Ray is not above exploiting that when it suits his purposes.

Finally Stella gives in.

"Yes, ok? If he would have me back I would"

It's the answer he expected no doubt. But it's also an easy answer right now. Clay is home, crippled, not spinning up into danger anytime soon.

"What about when he goes back to work? It's easy to say that now, the damage has been done, he survived, he may never operate again.

But- what - if - he - Does?"

he overexhagerates each word for emphasis

"What if he comes back all the way? Cuz you better be damn sure you are in it for the long haul no matter what the outcome is. That boy has been through hell and he doesn't deserve to get his heart broken again because you got mixed up or only wanted him when he was broken."

A tear escapes and slips down her cheek and he ruthlessly ignores it. It's tough love time. Either she can accept this life or she can't. Either she can love Clay as he is or she can't. There will be no pleading ignorance this time. Last time she maybe didn't quite know what she was getting into, this time she does and he wants to be one hundred percent sure of that.

She glares at him fiercely through her tears, a mix of anger and despair, and some amount of offence taken at the implications he is making.

"Of course I want him to heal fully, to go back to what he loves doing. I would never want to gain a life with him by having him lose a piece of himself in the process. It's why I walked away in the first place. I didn't want him to have to choose."

She takes a deeper breath, trying to regain her composure and then says calmly.

"I can't give you the answer you want right now. I don't know if I will ever be able to live comfortably with what he does. But I sure as hell know I can't live without him. I tried that and it didn't work so well"

Ray assesses people for a living. His teammates, his enemies, he has to be able to suss out half truths and lies effectively because sometimes lives depend on it.

Stella doesn't blink under his scrutiny. Doesn't waffle. Doesn't change her story and he figures its the best he is going to get out of her. He knows where she stands now even if that doesn't necessarily clear things up. It's probably too much to ask for a black and white answer in something this murky anyways. All he really wants is to try to minimize any hurt to Clay, whether that means Stella walking away now, which seems unlikely at this point, or at least just being upfront with him and having the hard discussions earlier rather than later.

"Fair enough, but regardless he deserves to hear it from you this time. Whatever your decision is. Make it and be upfront with him. Don't make him figure it out like the last time."

He leaves her on that note and heads back out into the street. After a few turns he sets up in his surveillance post and watches her sit there well past when her class should have started. After a good long while he sees her pull out her phone and start dialing and he smiles and packs up his post.

Mission accomplished.

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_Professional relationship meddler Ray Perry to the rescue._

_Just two more chapters and two more characters to go. _


	9. Chapter 9

Lisa is very adept at setting up a mobile TOC. She's done it in everything from a ritzy palace in Slovenia to a tarped shack in Mumbai's most desolate slums and is a well oiled machine who can make pretty much any type of space adapt to her needs. Her pretty much only main criteria is connectivity which is kind of self explanatory. Although maybe she is getting old, or spoiled, but air conditioning ranks pretty high up on her list of must haves these days too. She blames that God-awful week they spent set up suffering in a barely ventilated and heavily rat infested shipping container parked in a port in Indonesia for her new high standards. After that she made it clear to Eric that AC needed to be added to the criteria for any TOC set up and she has even written up an only slightly bogus rationale about how its an operational requirement to ensure all the highly sensitive communication equipment and other sensors run at their peak efficiency. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Blackburn does his best but sometimes she still has to make do with a fan. Today is one of those days because they are set up in the C130 where if the plane isn't moving the air conditioning ain't running.

It's bloody muggy out and the bottom layer of her hair has become one with the sweaty nape of her neck. She's given up on peeling it off and just accepted it that it will permanently be there no matter how many times she reties her hair. Whether it's early in the morning, late at night or smack dab in the middle of the day like right now, the ambient air temperature is constant and entirely too high for her comfort level.

You would think she would get used to these kinds of conditions after so many years and so many deployments in various hot countries around the world, but certain ones, especially the humid ones always seems to get to her. Maybe she can request her first placement after OCS be to the Arctic. Setting up TOC in an igloo sounds pretty darn good right now.

A soft snore interrupts her pity party and she glares at the only occupied hammock near the back of the plane. Clay doesn't seem to have any problems with this heat and is enjoying an afternoon siesta sprawled out fully clothed and in a heavy canvas cocoon.

A nap that he adamantly claimed wasn't necessary, mind you.

He maintained he was just going to put his feet up for a minute and it's beyond her how he actually managed to fall asleep in this heat but then again maybe he really needed the rest.

He isn't technically cleared to operate yet although he is definitely getting closer.

Bravo 6 ditched his cane over a month ago. Which was only two weeks before his physio actually said he could, a little detail he conveniently forgot to mention to them. Clay has consistently surpassed all his doctors expectations with a quiet determination and whether they like it or not. He's forced his rehab team to drastically shift their focus from hoping to achieve basic everyday functionality to tackling increasingly complex movements and rebuilding the physical capabilities that will allow him to operate again.

When this mission fell into Bravo team's lap it was too good an opportunity to pass up because they are in a newly developing sprawling city a mere 500 miles from one of the African villages Clay grew up in with his Grandparents. It was the perfect rationale for Jason to insist that Clay come along, strictly in a non-operational interpreter role of course.

Blackburn hadn't put up much of a fight, none whatsoever actually, and Lisa has a sneaky suspicion that no one really wanted Spencer left stateside alone so soon after Swanny. This was the ideal way to both keep him busy and also conveniently allows them to keep an eye on him.

Brett's loss was a shock that seemingly came out of nowhere and blindsided everyone. Clay, in particular was devastated, as the pair had bonded strongly throughout his recovery. They'd both been allies in their daily struggle to live on the outside of the team world looking in.

Spenser hasn't spoken much about what lead up to that fateful day at the VA and to those who know him well it's a sure sign that he's shouldering undue responsibility for Swanny's actions. Lisa would bet good money that Clay thinks he is to blame for not seeing just how much pain his roommate was in or finding a way to stop him from doing something so permanent.

So far the universally agreed upon "keep Spencer busy plan" is working well. Clay spent the better part of the morning working with Mandy to translate and interpret the chatter Bravo team was recording in areas suspected of harbouring a new, as of yet unidentified, dissident group that was just starting to appear on people's radar.

Lisa found it extremely gratifying to see Clay back in his element so to speak. While he wasn't operating yet, just having him travelling with the team, joking around with the guys and stringing his hammock in its normal spot made everyone a little giddy.

Mandy and Eric had to really work hard to get through the briefing because even the most stoic and level headed ones on Bravo didn't seem to be able to focus or resist a few extra jokes or squirelling off onto a tangent or two.

As always they settled down and got to work when it was time, but it was certainly more a more raucous environment up until that exact moment. Once they left things settled down considerably and

Clay and Mandy dug into their assignments. Then Davis was the one having trouble maintaining her focus because her attention kept drifting over to watch Clay. It was a sight for sore eyes, Bravo 6 fully engaged and eagerly meeting the challenge of sorting through several different dialects to pick out valuable bits of information that Mandy then spun up into even more valuable intelligence. Despite rarely working together in this capacity before, the pair played off each other rapidly and intuitively and after a while Lisa and Eric had given up trying to keep up and mostly just tried to stay out of their way.

Eric, Mandy, and several members of the support team have since headed off to a meeting at the joint forces command center to share the fruits of their morning's labour with the country's military leaders and their fledgling intelligence program. While they play nice and work the political scene, Bravo team has hunkered down for the afternoon's peak in the part of the city they have been staking out. The team is forced to lay low like the locals around this time of day both in order to stay cool and to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb. It's created a mid afternoon lull that allowed Clay to sneak off for his "rest".

Most of the remaining support team members have also taken this opportunity to escape either to grab a bite or stretch their legs. Those chances are few and far between while the team is in the field so if and when downtime is offered they take it and run. Right now they are running at just bare capacity with just Lisa monitoring the ISR and internal communications, and Edgar, their cyber analyst, sifting through online postings and social media for anything of interest.

Lisa does a quick survey of the streets around Bravo's hideout.

Looks good

She pulls the feed out to a wider angle, surveying a larger radius and is satisfied with what she finds.

All clear.

At least out there it is.

When the first soldier, comes up the ramp and heads towards her she doesn't think much of it. He is wearing the standard national insignias that adorned the military leaders and other local soldiers who have periodically come for meetings or assisted with exercises over the last couple days. He looks familiar, and she thinks he was here the day before yesterday working on something with Blackburn.

Her eye catches on the thick black arm band that's been added on top of his regular fatigues and she frowns slightly. That's something new she hasn't seen on any of the military here before and there is an interesting crest on it that she doesn't recognize. Before she can process that mystery any further the man is signalling behind him and several more guys come up the ramp all bearing the same black band.

That's a little more strange, but she still doesn't really question it until their guns raise up and point in her and Edgar's direction.

Ok, so this isn't a social call then.

Now, she is rapidly remembering Mandy raising her concerns about the trustworthiness of the local army during their initial briefing stateside. The analyst's research showed an alarming trend of the country's military changing allegiances freely and often. Their loyalty apparently only dictated by the best price tag. _Shockingly_, the higher ups hadn't wanted to hear it and had greenlit the mission regardless using the rational that there had been a recent period of stability and not at all influenced by their desire to buy favour with a new ally.

Chalk one up for Mandy's spidey senses.

Lisa just hopes their analyst is around to give her bosses a great big well deserved _I told you so_ later.

She hopes she is around to hear it.

The one who seems to be in charge comes forward and surveys the situation. She watches his eyes light on the communications equipment she is standing next to and then on her.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He gestures dismissively towards Edgar's station and two of his men come forward and grab the smaller man and haul him down the ramp of the plane and out into the midday heat where she can see there are more boots on the ground below.

She's not sure what awaits him out there but the possibilities probably aren't good. Her stomach clenches at the prospect.

He turns back towards her and she holds her ground, trying to shift subtly over to hide the computer monitor with the ISR display.

He holds out a hand and gestures with the universal "give it here motion" towards the sat radio clutched in her hand.

She tightens her hold on it.

This is the only lifeline to the team in the field. She has no idea if they are under attack but without this she has no way to warn them. And even worse if these guys get their hands on it who knows how long it will be before Bravo realizes their communication are compromised.

When she doesn't respond the leader motions one of his lackey's forward.

Lisa counters by backing up further but she runs quickly out of space against the desk. Trapped she makes a quick decision. Potentially a costly one. She shrinks back as far as she can and plasters on a panicked, fearful expression as if she is desperately still looking for a way out. They study her for a second and then assessing her to be just another weak female, bozo number one steps confidently closer and reaches out to try and wrestle the radio out of her hands.

She is ready for him and swings the surprisingly heavy radio as hard as she can into his nose. He cries out and says a word that she figures probably is nothing polite and covers his nose instinctively. At the same time she kicks out as hard as she can, not caring if she catches him a little low and grins in satisfaction while he staggers backwards into his boss and the other buddy on his left.

It gives her enough time to do what she needs to do. She quickly calls the panic word into the radio and then smashes it hard into the communications panel behind her making sure to catch all the different panels and switches.

Bozo number one finally pulls his hand away from his nose and his face twists in anger. She takes a small amount of satisfaction in the blood pouring down his face and even more satisfaction in the way his comrades behind him are clearly laughing at him. Her amusement fades quickly though when he regains his footing and keeping a safe distance this time raises his rifle in her direction.

She glares back at him tossing her chin defiantly.

Davis has no regrets and won't show them any fear now. Her guys are safe and that's all that matters, consequences be damned.

But then the head honcho snarls something, he gestures to the guy to his left and they start to walk away leaving just the one with his gun on her. She stares at them in confusion, more unnerved by the uncertainty and confusion at what is happening then the firearm aimed at her face.

Her new buddy snarls in frustration, lowering his weapon and using his sleeve to wipe some of the blood still gushing down his face. She lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She wasn't afraid to die and being attached to Bravo team means she has been in a few previous situations where she was 100% sure she was about to die. This time it's different though and the idea of leaving Sonny and knowing what it would do to him, hit her harder then maybe is healthy. Now the relief leaves her weak at the knees.

Later she will kick herself for losing her focus because it takes her a split second too long to realize his gun has been repurposed and that the butt end of the riffle is now coming straight at her face. She is frozen in place watching it come in slow motion, a sure incapacitating blow.

She is done.

Out of nowhere she gets shoved to the ground and the riffle hits a different target, coming down with all its force on an arm that appears to block it at the last second. There's a loud guttural cry and a scuffle and by the time she gets her bearings Clay is sitting on top of the man and has procured his rifle. He goes to lift it, reconsiders and quickly discards it in favour of pulling the man's service weapon from his waist.

Lisa's head is spinning almost as fast as if she did get hit and she is struggling to figure out what just happened. In all the excitement she'd completely forgotten Clay was even back there in his hammock, never mind expected him to come in at the perfect moment to rescue her.

"Lets go" his voice is hoarse from sleep but his eyes are fully awake and are alight with an intensity she hasn't seen in a long time.

"Hang on" she murmurs distractedly turning back to her monitors.

"Davis!" Clay hisses in annoyance, beckoning her to follow him towards the back.

"Just wait one" she types frantically, hoping she gets the kill code right, and nods in satisfaction when the ISR screen blacks out. She's not going to give them any eyes in the skies if they don't already have them. Plus the surveillance patterns would very clearly identify Bravo's current location. The team should be moving now based on her warning but she doesn't want to take any chances.

Clay looks appraisingly at her and offers an appreciative "good thinking," and then motions for her to follow him

She scrambles after him, ducking low and crawling under hammocks and praying the leader and his guys don't come to check in on why their incompetant buddy hasn't dragged her out yet.

Lisa probably shouldn't be surprised that Clay knows the exact location of an emergency hatch that drops them out the nose of the plane.

Of course he does.

They silently ease through the compartment and down onto the ground and she barely breathes as they dash the couple yards of exposed tarmac between the front of the plane and a storage shed near the fence line.

She hustles the last few feet and then launches herself up at the chain link fence just waiting for a shout or the echo of gunfire in their direction. Nothing comes and she keeps climbing with more ease than she would have expected and definitely sooner than she expected she reaches the top.

Her brief celebration and internal back patting is short lived when she realizes she is at the summit alone.

She looks around in a panic, worried Clay got picked off, or did something stupid like go back, and is both relieved and concerned to find him still at the bottom of the fence, struggling to keep foot holds.

Lisa could kick herself.

She should have given him a leg up, didn't even think about it. His sudden stealthy entrance and smooth adrenaline fueled take down of her attackers appears to have deluded them both about his current capabilities. This 10 ft chain link fence is a harsh reminder that he isn't actually as ready to go as he might like to believe.

"Go, I'll catch up" he waves at her to continue down the otherside but she firmly ignores him, staying perched at the top and waiting for him to join.

Clay swears and mutters something under his breath about stupid and stubborn, which is a bit rich coming from him if you ask her. Then with a cry of frustration he hurls himself at the fence and this manages to muscle his way up using purely brute arm strength, and basically only one arm and a hell of a lot of force of will to climb. When he gets high enough she reaches down and pulls under his armpit to help pull him up the last few feet and swing his toro over the top.

They slide down the other side and he grunts when he lands hard on the other side.

Before she can ask if he is alright he sets off in the direction of the nearest cover.

She follows his lead and it's only when they get a couple blocks away he finally crouches down behind a few bushes and gestures at her to do the same.

Clay is winded and panting heavily so she speaks first in a hushed whisper.

"Looks like Mandy was right. That rebel faction was as well connected as she feared and clearly has the resources to pay off the military."

He nods hurriedly in agreement and then forces out some clipped sentences in between breaths.

"Yes, have to assume they had ones on the inside everywhere …

…..That Mandy and Eric may have been overtaken too….

Need to get to a safe spot... Bravo will go to them…

…. they will circle back for us after"

Davis is fully on board with that plan. They've stumbled into the middle of a civil war they don't fully understand and need to avoid ending up crossfire. Best thing to do is find a way to stay alive and trust Bravo to take care of things.

She also knows that the Clay of 6 months ago would have proposed something completely different. For sure, she would have been sitting here trying to talk him out of doing something as half cocked and foolhardy as trying to do a one man rescue mission against an airfield of armed troops.

This Clay is different though. More aware of his strengths and weaknesses, especially right now. And he also has her to worry about in this scenario.

His head is back on a swivel, pivoting to see all angles before carefully rising up to move again. He has apparently caught his breath and is ready to go.

"I want to put some distance between us and the airfield in case they send out a team looking for us. Let's get moving, Cerb will be able to track us down wherever we go."

They push on. Carefully creeping street by street, building by building.

They move smoothly the first few blocks and Clay sets a purposeful pace that she has to work to keep up with.

The streets are eerily deserted, even for this time of day and it feels like they are a massive target, a blinking beacon of colour and movement against the otherwise still and muddy brown backdrop.

She begins to think that the rest of the world knew this coup was coming before they did. It makes her wonder what they missed. Mandy will be pissed about it that's for sure.

Clay continues to lead them through the labyrinth of small practically identical houses on the outskirts of town. He clears corner by corner with the Glock leading the way and there is a bright new energy humming around him, a gear that he finally gets to untap.

Unfortunately their trek across town quickly starts to dim that

In a regular world she would have no chance in outlasting any of the team guys but this isn't that and after a few more blocks Clay's pace noticeably falls off.

It shouldn't be surprising.

She was there with the team when they first got back and saw just how bad off he was. She had taken her fair share of shifts at the hospital watching his lungs struggle for every breath and his heart force itself to beat one beat at a time.

She saw the medical reports, the physio reports, the occupational therapy reports. They all came across her desk so to speak for monitoring. So she knows exactly how far he has come, and is also fully aware of how far he still has to go.

Adrenaline is a powerful thing, but it can only do so much.

At first it's subtle, his breath hitches slightly and his stride starts to shorten with an increasingly noticeable limp. He ignores it so she follows his lead. After all she is struggling for breath a bit too and her lungs are healthy and haven't had any recent trauma.

The situation quickly devolves and within a few minutes he is full on wheezing and when he staggers to a knee she allows herself to start to worry. His face is ghastly pale underneath red cheeks clearly depicting just how quickly his limited reserves are fading. But Clay is a SEAL through to his core and the end of most people's limits is where he begins. He pushes himself up and they continue on.

The next time he falls she forces him to take a minute to rest and breathe under the guise of stopping to plan for a second. He doesn't buy it and lasts about 30 seconds before he insists they need to get moving. Need to get a safe distance away and go to ground.

They both ignore how she has to help him get back up this time.

Even though his body is failing him Clay still has all the angles covered. He directs her without hesitation and calls the shots with a mental clarity that no physical limitations can touch.

After what feels like an eternity and a few more dicey moments where he trips over his own increasingly clumsy feet they make it to a building that apparently meets his criteria.

Or maybe he just decides it will have to do.

He uses the last of his energy to pick the lock and insists on climbing up all three stories to the top floor before he allows himself to slump down against the wall, sweating profusely and heaving great big gasps for air.

She waits in silence, giving him space and trying not to hover. Instead she does a tour around the room. Checking all the exits, peering carefully through the windows to ensure their presence has gone undiscovered.

When she turns back he seems to have recovered his breathing and has moved on to flexing his right arm experimentally. He wiggles his fingers carefully and seems satisfied but then when he tries to transfer the glock to it and grip the heavy metal object he winces sharply and has to make a grab for the gun with his good arm so it doesn't clatter to the ground. Oblivious to her scrutiny his face screws up for a second and he goes a shade paler while he takes a couple shaky breaths.

"You shouldn't have done that" she gestures to his arm, vividly remembering it coming up to protect her and the distinct cracking sound that makes her pretty confident in her unofficial diagnosis.

He shrugs his good shoulder, unperturbed "its fine I can shoot left handed."

She rolls her eyes in fond exasperation. Of course he can, but that's not the point.

"No, you shouldn't have intervened. I could handle it. I made my choice."

"Eh, whats a little more rehab time" He gives her a joking smile "They actually have a punch card, you win a free massage with every 10th visit"

He pauses for a second, and his face takes on a rare seriousness that unnerves her instantly

"...besides Sonny would have killed me if I let you get hurt."

She doesn't know what to say to that. And the way he is watching her keenly for a reaction tells her full well it wasn't just some innocent comment. Clay is too smart for his own good sometimes.

She doesn't respond for a minute. Taking the time to cross the room and check another couple window. Hoping he will let it go.

He doesn't.

"You know it took me way too long to figure it out. It wasn't until the day of the bombing that I actually called him on it. Just couldn't believe Sonny Quinn had a girl and was settling down….

….And then it took me a while to remember afterwards what he said about her. But when I finally did I had a lot of time in the hospital to think about it."

He pauses thoughtfully and levels his gaze at her

"Big heart, big dreams, and a complicated situation... Gee, I wonder who might fit that description. I doubt he is talking about Candy or Destiny at the strip club. Don't think those are the kind of big dreams he was talking about"

She shifts uncomfortably under his continued scrutiny but he keeps going, fully on a roll now that he has started.

"It took me forever to finally get him to cop to it. Sonny Quinn with an actual lady. I had to actually accuse him of being cursed before he fessed up."

That pulls a laugh out of her against her will.

"I said he had bad juju or something. But now I can see he just had something in his life to care about. It was a good change. He wasn't off his game, he just found a new more important one."

Damnit Spencer.

It's been a day, and she blames that fact for why his words are hitting her so hard. Why her defences are so down that he can apparently read her like an open book. She swallows hard around the lump in her throat and blinks back the moisture fighting to escape and gives him a wobbly, bittersweet smile.

"I'm not so sure about that, I think he might have decided it wasn't worth it for the leopard to try to change his spots in the end."

She turns and sits on one of the window sills, searching in the distance for the right words to explain the gnawing doubts and uncertainties she's been grappling with over the last couple months.

"Ever since the Philippines he's been a different person. Or maybe just gone back to his old self.

Even once you woke up. He just couldn't seem to get past it. Or maybe doesn't want to."

She gets up and paces again, needing to escape Spencer's too perceptive, too sympathetic gaze.

"You know, I can forgive him for being an idiot. For lashing out at me and the rest of the world when he was hurting. I already have really. I knew what he was when I got into this. Knew how he deals with things. He just doesn't seem to be able to forgive himself. It took us both a lot of convincing at the start to believe that we wouldn't ruin anything, or that we could somehow make it work…

Her voice rises as the frustration that's been building for weeks finally gets an outlet.

"...But he's gone and made it a self fulfilling prophecy now and won't let me anywhere near him to convince him otherwise."

Clay waits patiently until she is done her rant.

"He's an idiot, but he doesn't mean to be. Don't give up on him quite yet, he can't hide out at my place forever. I'm almost back on my feet, or at least I thought I was"

he gestures ruefully around him where he is still slumped on the floor.

"soon enough he will be out of excuses and will come around. Just give him some time to lick his wounds and pull his head out of his ass. And if he doesn't, then maybe you and I will have to pull it out for him,"

She smiles at the sincerity in his eyes and the unspoken declaration that he is on their side and all in for their relationship, rules be damned. She is transported back to their first deployment together where they somehow ended up as relationship confidants for each other and their fledgling relationships with Stella and Danny. They had been comrades in arms in a whole different type of battle and helped each other fumble through their first attempts at love and distance like only those in this life can understand.

Speaking of Stella ….she's beyond curious to know what's happening with that and is more than ready to shift the focus off her love life.

"Do you and stella just need some time too? Or do I need to do some ass pulling on your behalf?"

Payback is a bitch. She greatly enjoys watching the surprise and then resignation flit across his face after he just tugged at all her loose edges. Quid pro quo or something like that.

After a few seconds of silence, Clay gamely recovers and tries to answer.

"I don't know... I don't know what's going on. We've been talking a little bit lately, but honestly I'm still not entirely sure what she wants, or can handle really.

She considers that "Well I think the most important question to start with is what do _you_ want?"

He laughs, "I don't really know that either."

He frowns thoughtfully and continues "First I thought I could have it all. Then when she left I convinced myself I didn't need it all, just needed bravo and the team. But then in a blink of an eye I didn't even have that. Still might not have that."

"You will get it back Clay" she believes it more so than ever. Even if this adventure has been not so encouraging.

"I will.. " He agrees. And she can tell he actually believes it for the first time in a while "But who knows what happens down the line… And maybe I want more now too. Brett said something to me the other day, before he…"

He trails off and swallows hard before continuing

"Said _When you are really out you'll realize the team is everything you ever had_….It kind of scared me because it was true for him. And it's true for all of us on some level. I'm just not sure I want it to be true for me. Don't get me wrong, I want nothing more than to get back to the team. I just maybe want to make sure there is something at the end. That I'm not alone like him when it's all said and done."

"So stella…" she prompts gently.

"She's been helping me draft a campaign to get more awareness about the gaps in VA services. Helping me research some stats and policies and then we are going to get my dad to take it public. See if we can make a splash and get some better resources allocated. Stop people who deserve better from falling through the cracks like Swanny did."

"And…."

"And we are just friends… and we will see where it goes from there. It will give her a chance to see if she can handle this life again. I mean she's pretty much already seen the worst now right?"

Lisa gives him a knowing smile. They both know exactly where it will probably go. But she can appreciate both parties being a bit more guarded this time around.

"Do me a favour, don't tell anyone yet. The team has barely forgiven her for the first time round and I don't think they are ready to handle the idea of us trying again anytime soon. Even just trying to be friends."

No, she doesn't imagine the boys are ready to see Clay put his heart out there again and trust Stella not to break it.

"It's in the vault Clay. Same goes for me and Sonny, It'll be just like JBad all over again."

They lapse into silence for a few minutes and it becomes apparent that Clay is fading fast. His body has had to do an extraordinary amount of work today that it is neither used to doing or remotely equipped to do right now.

His head bobs to his chest, he fights it, snapping it back up to survey his surroundings. Spenser refuses to give up his post even though she can see the tremors of exhaustion running through body particularly in his one good arm that clings to the acquired Glock.

"Give me that."

He predictably protests, but she walks over and holds out her hand expectantly.

"Don't worry, I know how to shoot one. I'm pretty good with it too."

It's a testament to just how tired he is that he actually gives in.

"Alright, just make sure its not the good guys coming through the door."

She rolls her eyes and resumes her post at the window. By the time she glances back he is out like a light.

He wakes up briefly when Bravo arrives. His well honed senses somehow alert him to their silent arrival just before they breach the door and he tries to get to his feet. Failing miserably he gestures frantically at her to slide him the gun.

There is no time for that. Instead she points the muzzle confidently towards the door, and tries to pretend her hands aren't shaking just slightly. She reminds herself what Ray told her when she had to cover him in that embassy under attack. _It's not going to be me. _Her finger curls lightly over the trigger and she steadies her aim.

Eagle! Eagle!

They both relax at that and she quickly lowers the weapon, smiling gratefully when the team comes through the door lead by a straining canine that drags Brock across the floor and straight to Clay.

Sonny comes through the door right behind them and after a quick sweep heads and right to Lisa and picks her up off the ground for a strong hug. Tight lipped and terrified he holds her out, gives her a once over, and then pulls her back in again. She feels at once safe and secure, squeezed tightly to his chest and wrapped in his powerful arms. He sets her down sooner than she wants him too but continues holding onto her arm as if determined to keep a piece of her tethered to him.

"You alright?"

"I'm not hurt."

"Are. You. Alright?"

His eyes are worried, full of concern as he sweeps her over again, clearly not believing her assessment.

She can see the depth of emotion in them. The fear, concern, and love that's been missing the last month or two. They are no longer hard, or empty, or half drunk all the time like they were all the time when Clay was in the hospital. And they are not the shifty, guarded eyes she has seen lately where he refuses to make eye contact, and makes lame excuse after lame excuse for why he can't see her.

It makes her smile, and her heart burst with love for him again. She recognizes _her_ Sonny. The one only she gets to know. The one who lets down his walls and forgets all his bluster for a minute and is just real.

The moment is interrupted by Trent's panicked voice.

It's probably for the best or she might not have been able to resist the urge to kiss him in public.

"Clay. Hey Clay, Wake up!"

Now that the latest adrenaline rush is over, Clay is having trouble staying awake again much to Trent's consternation. The medics movements are panicked as he tries to check the man for bleeding or a head injury that would explain his lack of response.

Because with Clay there is always something more.

And that something more only 6 months ago is still fresh in everyone's mind.

Clay for his part is not being helpful, he bats the hands away and slurs something that sounds suspiciously like "I'm fine, bugger off" but she is just guessing because it's pretty unintelligible.

Whatever he said, he seems content to just leave it there and try to go back to sleep against the wall now that his team is here to take care of things. However that doesn't seem to appease anyone and Trent continues trying to do an exam, Clay continues to be thoroughly unhelpful, and other team members start panicking and trying to get involved.

Lisa sighs and decides to be the adult in this group before Jason and Trent and well basically the entire team has a heart attack and maybe starts CPR unnecessarily on Clay .

"He's ok Trent, right arm's probably broken, but other than that I think he just overdid it and crashed and burned a bit."

Clay slurs something again that sounds suspiciously like "shut up"and drops his head down onto his good arm and knees and lets it rest there.

Lisa manages to give a clear report to Jason and then she is gratified to learn that Mandy and Eric are alright and have been coordinating with the local government to help squash the rebel faction that attacked from within. The civil dissidents ended up spreading themselves too thin and attacking too many places at once and were repelled at several key junctures meaning they have so far fallen well short of any sort of control.

She holds it together until they go to walk to the car and then all of a sudden her legs are wobbly. Sonny subtly puts an arm around her back lending support. It thankfully goes unnoticed, both for her pride and for their sake, because most of the team is busy fussing over Clay who is insisting on walking to the car under his own steam and failing miserably leading to exasperated negotiations about the type of help he will accept. Finally Brock and Jason each sling and arm over their shoulder while Clay does his best to make his legs do something somewhat useful. He is out like a light the second they get him in the car.

Lisa watches him sleep with his head against the window and then looks up to catch Sonny watching her with the same concern in the rearview mirror from up front next to Ray, the driver. He sees her watching him and his eyes crinkle softly before he breaks contact to go back to surveying the street around them for threats.

Safe and secure and surrounded by her family, all of them, Lisa feels herself start to drift. She looks up into the mirror once more and sees Sonny still watching over her and she smiles softly before allowing her eyes to close.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

_This was for all intents and purposes the last main part of the story. I really should have just left it there. But there is one last (short) epilogue that I couldn't resist writing, one story that apparently needed to be told. Should be up shortly. _


	10. Chapter 10

When Cerb's people come back in their blue uniforms they are sad.

He doesn't know where they went today, or why they needed to lose some of their fur to go do it, but they do eventually return.

Alpha is sad and ignores Cerb and everybody else. He sits by himself without doing much or saying anything to anyone. Cerb takes it upon himself to fix this and does finally get him to crack a smile after a few face licks and an uninvited visit to his lap. Alpha's face feels weird without the usual fur and Cerb gives it a few extra licks for good measure to help it grow back.

When Alpha goes to leave later he seems to forget about Cerb again. Thankfully he quickly realizes the error of his ways after finding the door blocked and receiving a few verbal reminders. After that Alpha remembers to get a leash and they get to go for a car ride and then play the "sneak game" that they play some times where he tells Cerb to be really quiet and then walks weirdly in front of him at certain points as they go through doors.

Cerb ends up under a table, lying quietly like his master told him to. He doesn't mind because he has the perfect vantage point to watch his people come and go and sometimes food even drops onto the floor in front of him. He rests in place contentedly as his pack mingles about and every once and a while he catches the sounds of certain familiar voices that rise above the background noise and he hones in on one of his members and can watch where they go and ensure they are alright.

After a while the room goes quiet and Bravo 1 stands up and talks for a while. Cerb doesn't understand what he is going on about but his people seem to like it. They watch carefully, so Cerb does too, looking for any threat or any sign of trouble. Finally Bravo one stops and then they all say "SWANNY" loudly and then drink their foul smelling water and make more noise.

The hustle and bustle around him picks up again and his people start talking and laughing.

It's a nice feeling after all the lingering that has been around the last couple days.

Still he continues to keep tabs on his pack, not completely at ease with the situation.

Bravo 1 - check - with his puppy at a table nearby

Bravo 2 - check - with his mate talking and smiling

Bravo 3 - check - with his mate too

Cerb is getting used to seeing them together. He made Alpha go for a walk earlier today and caught their scent. Alpha was annoyed that he followed it of his own accord but came along for the ride nonetheless and stopped complaining when the saw Bravo 3 and his mate at the table with their paws touching. For some reason he decided not to go visit them but he did say a weird word "Blackmail" and used his pocket device to make clicking sounds. For some reason he decided not to go greet our pack members.

Bravo 4 - with his mate - check

Alpha - check - above the table talking to his mate

Bravo 6...

Where is bravo 6?

He was at that table over there not very long ago.

Cerb does a quick scan of the room and still can't find him. This is not good.

Bravo 6 could be in trouble again. Bravo 6 is always in trouble.

He sniffs the air and then sniffs Alpha's leg. Alpha doesn't smell like that bad smell again, like fire and blood, like he did on the night Bravo 6 went away last time. But what if he disappears again? Goes away for days and then weeks and doesn't come on the plane or on adventures with the pack?

Cerb needs to find him.

That's is Cerb's job. He needs to protect his pack. Find them when they are in trouble.

He stands up under the table and bumps into Alpha's leg.

When Alpha ignores him, he barks to get his attention away from his mate.

Finally Alpha looks at him but doesn't move out of his seat.

"_Pfui,_ Cerb, _Pfui_ … _Platz"_

Cerb ignores the commands and barks again. Now his master looks surprised and a little confused. Other members of the pack are starting to look over as well.

Now he is getting somewhere.

He leaves the area under the table and sniffs around further out trying to find the smell he wants.

"Cerb what are you doing, _Hier_"

He ignores whatever his master just said, and definitely ignores the order to return to his side.

Their pack leader comes to stand near Cerb and Alpha and after watching for a minute starts looking around the room as well.

Pack leader looks around a bit longer and finally says "Where's the kid"

Its about time someone caught on.

"Where's the kid" is one phrase Cerb knows well.

He's heard it on several adventures including one just a few days ago in that really hot and dirty place they went. It's usually followed by Alpha giving him Bravo 6's scent and telling him to _Suche. _ Last time he had to work hard but he eventually found Bravo 6.

Today he doesn't need the command to start searching, he just needs the rest of his pack to keep up.

Thankfully they all seem to be finally paying attention. Perfect.

Cerb catches the scent he wants and starts following the trail, weaving through the crowded room until he gets to a door.

He pushes it but it doesn't open. Tries scratching at it too.

Cerb barks again.

His pack stands watching him but don't move to do anything about it.

He glares at them. Isn't this what they do, open the doors?

Open the damn door.

Open it.

He barks again.

Finally the big man at the back says something

"Ain't anyone going to open it. Blondie could be in trouble in there"

Whatever he says seems to work because the pack's second starts to move to the door.

Finally.

Bravo 2 kicks the door open.

Cerb eagerly crowds forward, determined to continue following the scent until he finds…..

Bravo 6 and his mate, with their snouts together.

They separate quickly and step apart looking upset.

But Cerb is happy. He found Bravo 6. His pack is complete.

Things are silent for a long minute and none of the pack members move or say anything.

Then one by one they start making that sound from their bellies that they make when they are happy. A couple of them start to make noises with their two hands coming together. Others let out whistles, very different from the ones Alpha uses for him. These ones are long and melodious and have two tones, high and then lower and they are obnoxiously loud.

Bravo 6 ducks his head and then starts to smile and reaches out to put his paw around his mate and pulls her closer to him as they exit the room they are in. The rest of the pack reaches out to paw him on the shoulder or gently on the head as he passes by them.

Cerb, wags his tail proudly and goes to follow Alpha back to their table.

His pack is safe, his job is done.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

_Cerberous gets the last word here. Somehow he ended up with a chapter over Mandy. Not really sorry about that but hopefully it wasn't too weird and did its job of wrapping up things with some levity after such a long and heavy story. _

_For those not fluent in german or too lazy to google it- __Pfui_ (No) _Platz _(down) _Hier _(Come) _Suche_

_(Search)_

_Thanks to everyone who stuck with it and for all the kind words. I really, really need to take a break after this story because I have a couple important things coming up in the next few weeks that need some attention. And apparently I fail at having self control and would always rather be writing. That said just as I was finishing this last chapter some new inspiration hit thanks to a few words from Burnmedown's current masterpiece that struck a chord and started me off on a new tangent…. Doh. So maybe there is hope of a new story at some point, who needs to be productive right? _


End file.
